Ian and Mickey - Highschool Story
by ShamelessLover3
Summary: Mickey is the most popular kid at school, he's also a bully. Ian is the new kid and the victim of the football team, but bullying somebody doesn't necessarily mean you won't end up liking them, even if you try your best not to. Rated M for later - a remake of CrissColferL0ve... nothing mine just a change of names.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1:**

It was the first day of senior year and there was a new kid.

There was never a new kid.

The last time there had been a new kid had probably been in the second grade, when that girl with the lazy eye and the crooked teeth had transferred from... somewhere. Mickey didn't remember, in fact, he wasn't sure he had ever even known to begin with. He didn't really bother to find out the minor details about everyone at McKinley High. He didn't need to. He was the one that everyone wanted to know, he was the one everyone wanted to be, even if, at times, he didn't really want to be himself.

Nevertheless, there was a new kid now. Mickey saw him from down the hall. He appeared to be having a brawl with his new locker. It looked as if he was muttering obscenities under his breath as he twisted the dial anti-clockwise with a lot of force. He would be acquainted with it soon enough, Mickey thought, he would probably end up inside it before the day was out.

He was interesting, this boy, in a strange way. He wasn't like any of the other boys who attended McKinley. At least, it didn't appear that way. Nobody dressed like that around here. Sure, some of the boys in Mickey's circle were quite well-off and wore designer clothing, but not like that. Mickey had designer sweaters, polo shirts, jeans, shoes, but he didn't own anything that even closely resembled what this boy was adorned in. His sequined vest, long-sleeved, tight-fitted white shirt and skinny, skinny jeans were only going to worsen matters for him. Soon enough the poor kid would be quaking in his patent leather, violet Doc Martins. Mickey almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

Mickey watched the boy, curiously. He had his locker opened now and was pulling books from his over-the-shoulder bag, before placing them inside the locker. It all seemed terribly awkward and like a huge struggle. That was going to go against him, too, Mickey conceded, frowning a little.

"What's up, Milkovich?" Noah Iggyerman said, appearing out of nowhere, knocking Mickey from his reverie. He raised a muscled arm, waiting for Mickey to greet him in their usual fashion. Mickey bumped his fist against Iggy's and gave him a smile.

"New kid," Mickey felt the need to point out, as he gestured towards the boy with the perfectly coiffed hair, as he studied what appeared to be his schedule with great interest.

Iggy strained to see over the crowds, then grinned, his dark eyes flashing briefly, when he spotted the boy.

"Sweet," Iggy chuckled, drawing out the 'e' sound in the word 'sweet'. "Once the guys are here, we can give him a proper McKinley High welcome!"

Mickey forced a laugh and straightened up, drawing his red letterman jacket over his chest. He knew what a 'proper McKinley High welcome' entailed. He had participated in enough of them. He watched as Iggy began gathering the rest of the football team, as they passed by in the hallway. It wasn't long before at least eight guys were standing by Mickey's locker talking loudly and laughing boisterously, some of them holding cups filled to the brim with slushie.

Mickey peered across the hallway at the new boy again, still studying his schedule, his thin eyebrows furrowed, eyes narrowed, bottom lip caught between his teeth. Mickey felt himself shiver as he thought about what was about to happen to the boy, a strange emptiness forming in the pit of his stomach. If he had been a good person, he would have told them not to do it. If he had been a good person, he wouldn't even be friends with them in the first place. If he had been a good person, he would have walked away and left them to their machiavellian devices.

"Hey," Iggy said, thumping Mickey on the shoulder, playfully. "Here ya go, man."

Mickey looked down at the cup of flavoured ice that Iggy was holding out for him to take. He eyed the purplish slush and thought about how the ice would seep through the boy's clothing, soaking and staining his white shirt, destroying a hairstyle that appeared to have taken a long time to complete, to get just right. Mickey felt his stomach sinking a little, then mentally scolded himself for even thinking about this. What did some random new kid matter to Mickey Milkovich? He had never cared before, why should he start now? Consciences were for wimps, that's what he'd told himself for so long, that was what he had to believe.

Mickey grinned, from ear to ear and took the cup, because Mickey wasn't a good person.

* * *

"Hey, new kid," Iggyerman said in a sing-song manner.

Mickey watched as the boy swung around to face the gang of boys all clad in red jackets, holding cups overspilling with coloured ice. He saw the horror on his face when he realised what was happening, saw the way his eyes—which appeared to be blue, Mickey couldn't really tell from where he was standing—widening, as round as saucers, saw his jaw go slack, his pale lips parting, saw the blood draining from his already-pale face. He saw his breath hitching in his chest, saw the terror in his eyes, saw how his schedule fell from his grasp and flitted to-and-fro until it hit the cold, hard ground. Mickey had seen kids panic in this situation before, but the terror in this boy's eyes was new and a little surprising to him.

"I —you..." the boy trailed off, words betraying him, as his bright eyes darted from each of the guys, grinning wildly at him. His eyes met Mickey's briefly, but quickly moved to meet the next person's.

"We thought we'd welcome you to McKinley with a nice," Iggy said, taking a step closer. "Refreshing," the others moved forward, too, including Mickey, because that was what he was supposed to do. "Slushie facial," Iggy finished, his eyes wide with amusement, his mouth twisted into a broad smile.

The boy took a small step back, but there was nowhere to go. He was cornered and no one was going to come to his rescue, no one ever came to anyone's rescue at this school, because no one dared face down Mickey and the football team. They got away with a lot of things, the teachers dismissing their actions because they came from money, or because they were needed on the team in order to help McKinley retain it's good name. This kid was going to experience a freeing, cold shower right in the middle of the crowded hallway and nothing and no one was going to prevent it from happening.

"And because you're brand, spankin' new," Iggy continued, moving closer still. "I'm going to introduce you to our number one guy."

 _Oh, no,_ Mickey thought, briefly and then Iggy was tugging him into the centre of the circle, by the arm. Mickey felt his stomach twisiting again, painfully this time.

"New kid," Iggy grinned, as he swung an arm around Mickey's shoulders, causing Mickey to flinch very slightly. "Meet my main man, Mr. Mickey Milkovich. He's going to give you your first McKinley High welcoming party!"

Iggy was looking at Mickey now, waiting for him to dump the slushie over the boy's head. Mickey felt eight sets of eyes on him, watching him expectantly, all clearly wondering why he hadn't done it yet. Which made perfect sense, because Mickey wasn't exactly sure why he hadn't done it yet, either. He was mean, he was rude to most people, he was a bully, really, even if he didn't like that term. He ate kids like this for breakfast. He would have to suck it up—whatever it was—and just do what he was supposed to do.

He looked from Iggy to the guys, giving him encouraging nods, some of them letting out loud whooping sounds. Mickey looked back to the boy, his grey-blue eyes—Mickey could see the colour of his eyes quite vividly now and they really were a brilliant blue—watching him, pleadingly, almost begging him not to do it. But he had to, he didn't have a choice and if he did, he would choose to do it anyway, wouldn't he?

Mickey grinned, tearing his gaze from the boy's terror-filled eyes, then raised the cup high above his head.

"Welcome to McKinley," he said, with a cruel laugh. "I hope you'll find the temperature here to your liking."

And with that he emptied the contents of the cup over the boy's head. The others exploded with laughter and proceeded to pour the slushies they held over the boy, too. He squirmed and gasped as he slid to the ground, face buried in his hands, the freezing cold ice dripping down his fingers, his hair stuck to his head, his outfit stained all over.

"There'll be plenty more where that came from! " Iggy whooped as he strolled away, high-fiving one of the other guys.

Mickey walked away with his crowd of friends, then made an excuse that he'd left something in his locker. He hurried back to it and opened it, pretending to rummage inside, as he watched the new boy out of the corner of his eye. The boy stood, cautiously, his entire body shivering with the cold. He watched as he slammed his locker shut with a loud groan, then walked slowly away.

Mickey waited until he was out of sight completely, before returning to the boy's locker. He bent and picked up the soaking schedule from the ground and studied it. As did all schedules at McKinley, this one had a small, square photograph of the boy in the left hand corner. It was difficult to see past the purple stains and the dampness, but his features could be made out; Those unmistakeable blue eyes, his thin, pale lips, downturned into a slight frown, the coiffed hair style. Mickey looked to the right, seeking out a name.

 _Ian Gallagher._

He lowered his eyes to study the boy's classes, when he heard a voice behind him.

"Mickey, sweetie!"

He folded the paper quickly, careful not to tear it and shoved it in his jacket pocket, before swinging round to find his girlfriend standing there, smiling at him. Quinn Fabray was the captain of the cheerleading squad and the girl everyone wanted. She was your regular pretty, blonde, popular girl, like the ones in the movies. Of course, it was a given that she and Mickey would be an item. They had been just that for almost a year, now and were the 'It' couple at McKinley, now that they were seniors.

"What are you doing standing in that puddle?" she smiled, sweetly as she slipped an arm through Mickey's. "Well, come on, silly. We're going to be late for class!"

Mickey returned her smile and allowed her to pull him to their first class. He glanced back at the purple puddle near the boy's locker, now spreading down the hallway, along the small cracks in the tiles. He shook his head. What did he care about some stupid new kid? He was Mickey Milkovich, the quarterback of the football team, the guy everyone wanted to be. He had Quinn Fabray, for God's sake! He needed to be that guy, the guy everyone looked up to, the guy everyone feared. No one feared a good person. And Mickey Milkovich was most definitely not a good person.

* * *

"I'll see you at lunch, baby," Quinn said, giving Mickey a small peck on the cheek, before rushing out of the classroom.

Mickey grabbed his bag and stood up. That strange feeling was still in the pit of his stomach and it was making him feel sick. The urge to vomit had remained with him all through class, but he knew that if he left class and went to the bathroom that he wouldn't quite manage actually vomiting. It was an odd feeling, a feeling he couldn't quite put a name to. He sighed and walked out of the room and into the crowded hallways, eyes searching for someone in particular. He peered around, eyes straining, looking for the hair, because there really was no missing that hair. He saw him then, standing by the bathroom, his head buried in a book.

Mickey sauntered across the hall, people stepping back to allow him through, no one making eye contact with him. He had reached his destination now. He raised a hand and knocked the book from the other boy's hand. It hit the floor with a quiet thud. Dark eyes looked up at him through thick, dark spectacle frames.

"Lip," Mickey spoke over the crowds, grinning down at the other boy. "Let's have a little chat."

Mickey gestured for Lip to follow him, as he pushed the bathroom door open and went inside. He made sure it was empty, then turned to look at Lip standing there, the book back in his grasp, his wild hair like a frizzy cloud surrounding his face. He looked alarmed.

"You're aware of a new student in the senior class, I take it," Mickey stated, because Lip knew everyone. He was like a little weasel, constantly getting into everyone's business.

Lip nodded and opened his mouth to speak, but Mickey held up a hand, halting him and he stopped.

"What do you know about him?"

"Why?"

" _Why?_ " Mickey said, angrily, stepping closer to Lip, who cowered back a little, his hands fidgeting with the book. It was always easy to treat Lip like a lesser person than he was, in fact, it was easy for Mickey to treat everyone in this manner, mostly because most people at McKinley _were_ lesser people than Mickey. He wondered what it was about this new boy that made him feel less confident in this. If he could boss Lip Ben Israel around now, then that meant he hadn't lost his touch, or whatever it was. It meant that this boy was some form of exception and he didn't like that one little bit.

"I'm j-just wondering w-why you're so interested i-in a nobody like th-that," Lip responded nervously, in his squeaky voice, his gaze on everything but Mickey.

It was a good question, but it was also a question Mickey could not answer.

"Because I want to know who's at my school, that's why," Mickey replied, eyes narrowed. "Now, tell me what you know."

Lip swallowed hard and started talking.

"I d-don't know much, just that he lives with h-his dad. His n-name is Ian and h-he's gay, I mean, at least I _think_ he is," he stammered, blinking uncontrollably.

Mickey's eyebrows furrowed, taking in this new information. The kid's sexuality hadn't even crossed his mind. There were no gay students at McKinley, at least none that Mickey was aware of.

"Okay," Mickey said, calmly. "I want you to find everything you can on him and report back to me before lunch. You got that?"

He stepped closer to Lip and took a handful of his shirt. Lip gasped and nodded quickly.

"Good," he said, releasing the boy. Lip turned and began walking to the door. "Oh, and Lip?" Mickey called after him.

Lip turned and looked at him again, face stiff with fright.

"Y-yes?"

"I'm going to need a copy of his schedule, you think you can get me that?" Mickey knew he could. Lip was in the newspaper department, which meant he had access to most of the student information files Principal Figgins kept in his office. Lip nodded, once. "Tell anyone about this and I'll shave your head, though God knows I would be doing you a favour."

This time Lip asked no questions, he simply nodded again before disappearing out the door, leaving Mickey standing there alone.

* * *

Mickey told his friends that he had to see his history teacher about a paper during lunch. He sat in the back corner of the school library, breathing in the scent of the dusty, old books surrounding him on the thick, wooden shelves, with two sheets of paper on the desk in front of him. He had no idea why, but his heart was beating painfully in his chest, his hands shaking. He looked down at the first sheet, which Lip had handed to him as he passed him by in the hallway. He studied Lip's uneven handwriting, trying to make it out.

 _Ian Gallagher, 17, from Westerville, Ohio. DOB: Dec. 15th 1994. Lives with his dad in Lima, is definitely gay (I asked him). Straight A student, left previous school for personal reasons-reasons not listed. Schedule attached. Please don't beat me up-Lip._

Mickey rolled his eyes. He wasn't sure what he had been expecting. Maybe the kid's phone number, or something. What Lip had given him didn't really feel like enough. _Enough for what, though?_ he wondered, briefly, as he lifted the other sheet of paper and laid it down in front of him.

It was a replica of the stained, now stiff schedule in his pocket. He could see the photograph more clearly now. The kid— _Ian_ —looked like someone had just told him his pet goldfish had been killed by the neighbour's cat. He had looked much the same when Mickey had laid eyes on him for the first time in the hallway, as he fought with the combination on his locker. His eyes were sad and the colour of the sky in the summer time.

He was frowning, too. He looked miserable. Mickey wondered why he looked so sad. He lived with his dad, maybe his mom had died recently? Perhaps she'd run off with another guy? Mickey's mind was filled with ideas, his imagination running wild. He had no clue what had happened to this boy, but there was something behind those baby blues, something Mickey could see even in this small photograph, something that compelled him to want to know more about him.

His head snapped up when he heard the first bell chiming, the one that reminded the students that class started in fifteen minutes. He looked around the empty library, only the librarian chatting quietly to somebody on the phone was present. He stood up and picked up his belongings, before heading out the door, heart racing from the shock the sound of the bell had given him just moments before. He walked upstairs to where the lockers were. The hallway was completely empty, not a soul in sight. He stopped at the new boy, Ian's, locker and looked around again, making sure no one was around, before pulling the clean, dry schedule from his pocket. He stood still for a moment, heart thumping loudly in his chest, then slipped the page through the small slit in the locker door.

He walked away before anyone saw him there, his heart still beating wildly against his rib cage, that emptiness still present in his belly. Only when he had reached the end of the hallway did he breathe a sigh of relief, but there was still something nagging at some part inside of him, something, somewhere that he could not quite place, but he hoped it would go away soon, because he couldn't afford to have to deal with the consequences that it might entail if it didn't.

Mickey turned the corner, the sound of students coming towards him in the distance, and painted a smile across his face, because that was what he had been programmed to do, every single day since before he could remember.

* * *

Ian Gallagher had spent his entire lunch hour sitting by himself in an empty classroom, picking at the sandwich his dad had packed into a small paper bag for him, not willing to risk bumping into that bunch of Neanderthals that had attacked his face with flavoured ice earlier that morning.

He had been hopeful coming to McKinley High, coming to Lima, in general. He thought that once he was away from Westerville, that he would be leaving all of the bad things behind, but apparently this was not the case. He wondered if he should just accept the fact that he was going to spend the rest of his existence a victim, the target of all snide remarks and angry fists and now, cups of freezing cold iced beverages.

He left the empty class room when he heard a bell clamouring from the intercom over by the door, assuming that it meant he had to get to class pretty soon. He had been struggling all morning, asking random people what class they had next and trying to figure out where he needed to be, he'd even missed two classes. He had dropped his schedule earlier, when the jocks had surrounded him and when he'd come back from drying himself off, the schedule had disappeared. Initially, he figured that the cleaners must have discarded of it, but then he saw that the pool of purple liquid was still very much covering the path from his locker to the lockers across the way.

When he arrived in the hallway in which his locker stood, he saw that no one was here yet. He was early. He cursed under his breath, because he was always getting himself into awkward situations like this. What in the name of all that was holy had that bell been for?

Ian sighed as he fought to turn the dial on his locker. It was ridiculous. It shouldn't have been as difficult as it was, but he simply could not get the combination right the first, or second, or even third time. After whispering several unmentionable words beneath his breath, the lock finally clicked and he pulled the door open. He stepped back, suddenly, when something fell from his locker. He was over-the-top fidgety today. His day hadn't exactly gotten off to a good start and he kept expecting more awful things to happen to him as the day went on.

However, when Ian looked down at the now-spotless tiles under his feet, he saw that what had fallen from his locker had been a sheet of white paper. His stomach twisted slightly, as thoughts of what this page could be ran through his mind, his brain imagining that it could only be something negative.

Finally, he bent to pick up the sheet of paper, aware of the students now filing into the hall, talking and laughing and pushing their way towards their own lockers. He took comfort in the large crowds because he could hide amongst them. He turned his attention back to the page and flipped it over and was surprised to find that it was his schedule. Or at least a copy of it, since he was sure his original one would not be legible any more and was probably sitting in some recycling bin at that very moment.

He furrowed his eyebrows, wondering who on earth would take the time to slip a clean schedule into his locker. Perhaps it had been a teacher who had seen the soiled one and felt it was his or her duty to replace it. That was the only sane explanation he could come up with. It wasn't as if anyone had gone out of their way to behave even remotely friendly towards him all day. People had barely noticed him and the ones who did, either chuckled with their friends, obviously cracking some kind of joke, or stared at him like he had six heads and was wearing a dusty pink ballgown. Nothing new, he supposed, but that didn't take away from the fact that it still hurt every time it happened.

Ian looked down at the classes printed on the page; English was next. At least he had a schedule now, instead of having to worry about where he had to go next. He shrugged, pressed his locker shut and turned around. He lowered his head and hurried off to find his next class.

* * *

Mickey stood by his own locker and watched as the new boy jumped backwards slightly, when the schedule he had placed there fell out and landed by his feet. His hair was dry now, but not as carefully styled as it had been that morning. It looked sort of stiff and sticky and his clothes were terribly stained.

No one approached the boy, or even glanced in his direction as he bent to pick up the schedule from the ground. Mickey watched as his cyan eyes widened upon realising what was on the page. It was stupid, but Mickey took pleasure in this sight, in knowing that the boy was so pleasantly surprised because of something he had done. He straightened the smile he hadn't known he'd been sporting into a stiff line and tilted his head, so that he could see the boy over the cheerleader who had chosen to stand right in his line of sight.

The boy, Ian, he reminded himself, was closing his locker now and pulling the strap of his white bag up onto his broad shoulder. He was walking away now, his head bowed, pushing gently through the crowds, in an endeavour to get to class. Mickey wondered how he had managed to make it through the first half of the day without a class schedule, then shoved the thought into the back of his head, reminding himself that he did not care. Mickey kept his eyes on the boy's red until it disappeared down the hallway and out of sight.

He had to do something. He didn't know what, exactly, just that he had to do something and fast. He turned back to his open locker and pulled the boy—Ian's— schedule from his pocket, carefully and placed it inside his locker. He glanced around, quickly, before pulling his own schedule out of the back pocket of his jeans. He laid them side by side and studied them.

 _They both had English next._

Mickey shoved both schedules into his open back pack, zipped it up, then slammed his locker shut, before rushing away to the boy's bathroom, where he would remain until everyone else was safely in class.

* * *

"Mr Milkovich, how nice of you to join us."

Ian's head shot up from his book when his teacher, Mrs Flynn spoke out loud. She had assigned them some reading, from 'Jane Eyre' and the class had been relatively silent until she had spoken.

Ian saw him then, the boy who had been introduced to him as Mickey Milkovich, by the guy who had what appeared to be some species of roadkill on his head. Ian didn't think he was going to forget that name anytime soon and he was sure that everytime it was mentioned, he would experience some form of painful flashback to the boy's hand twisting until his cup was tipped over Ian's head, the purple ice hitting him like shards of broken glass.

"Sorry, Mrs Flynn," the dark haired boy said, politely. "I wasn't feeling very well."

"Take a seat," Mrs Flynn simply instructed, turning back to her own book.

Ian glanced around quickly and was mortifed when he realised the only empty seat in the entire classroom was the one next to him, in the very back right hand corner. He quickly bowed his head, pretending to be terribly invested in the happenings between the covers of his book, aware that this Mickey Milkovich was now walking towards him. His heart was beating irrationally and violently against his chest.

Mickey pulled out the seat, slowly, trying to be quiet about the whole affair. He sat down eventually and unzipped his bag, also slowly, the sound of the zipper filling the entire room. He pulled his own book out and opened it, as he sat back in the chair, a small smile on his face. Ian kept his eyes locked on his book, but was finding it difficult to process the words with the guy who had covered him in slushie just hours before sitting so close by. Ian spent the next ten minutes concentrating on ignoring the presence of Mickey Milkovich, who actually seemed to be pretty ensconsed in the book. Ian flipped the pages of his own book every so often for good measure.

After ten minutes, Mrs Flynn cleared her throat.

"For this class, you will have a paper due on this book," she held up her own copy of 'Jane Eyre'. "You will be working in pairs," she went on. "With the person sitting next to you."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2:**

" _For the entire school year?_ " Mickey exploded, gaining pitiful glances from some of the football players across the room.

He couldn't decide if he was pleased about the entire situation, or really, really nervous. Maybe both, he thought. He'd done it purposely, obviously. He couldn't pin point why, exactly, but he'd known what he'd been doing when he had hid out in that cubicle for twelve minutes.

Mrs Flynn had been Mickey's English teacher for the past two years and every year, she did the exact same thing: Paired the class up for projects with the person next to them and they remained partnered with that person until the school year ended. Mickey had known that there was little chance that anyone would have sat next to Ian. He was the new kid and he was.. well. He was the way he was. It was like that at McKinley. If you got caught with the target of the footballers' fists, that automatically made you a joined force, thus having yourself placed under the target list also.

So, Mickey had come to class late, aware that there would be only one seat vacant and when he arrived at class, he was both joyful and anxious when he saw that things had gone as planned. Now he had to play the injured party, had to complain that he had to work with this kid, had to pretend it was the biggest travesty ever known to man, knowing that Mrs Flynn would not be moved.

"Yes, for the entire school year, Mr Milkovich," Mrs Flynn said, tiredly. "As you are well aware."

Mickey could feel the kid shifting next to him, could sense how his body had gone rigid and how he was fidgeting with the corners of the pages on his book. He felt a pang of guilt as he spoke to his teacher.

"But he's—he's not really—I mean, he's sort of," Mickey paused, his head hurting a little. "We're not really compatible, are we?"

A few kids snickered at that and Mickey asked the Gods why he'd chosen that word out of all the words he could have used. Mrs Flynn simply shook her head.

"I'm not asking you to marry him, Mickey, just to work with him on some projects."

People were laughing now and Mickey felt the heat creeping up the back of his neck as he swung his head around to meet the eyes of the people who had laughed at him. He shot them an accusing glare and they bowed their heads and ignored his daggered looks.

"Alright, get talking to your partners, everyone and decide how you are going to complete this assignment," Mrs Flynn clapped her hands twice, before sitting down, the class now buzzing with voices, people discussing methods with their partners.

Mickey looked sideways at Ian, who was avoiding his eyes at all costs. He had the urge to apologise to him, but wouldn't because that went against everything Mickey Milkovich was about. Instead, he took a silent breath and turned to his new partner with a smile.

"Mickey Milkovich," he beamed, confidently, extending a hand for the boy to take.

Ian turned his head slowly, his eyes going straight to Mickey's outstretched hand. He eyed it for a few moments, then raised his eyes to meet Mickey's, his blue gaze locking with Mickey's golden syrup one. Finally, he lifted a slender hand and slipped it into Mickey's.

Mickey felt his skin tingling wildly the moment Ian's hand touched his. His skin was baby soft, his hand warm and slow in movement, unsure, as he shook Mickey's hand weakly.

"Ian Gallagher," he told him, quietly.

"New?" Mickey asked, feigning ignorance.

Ian's face twisted then, his expression clearly questioning Mickey's previous statement.

"Are you serious?" he asked, his voice breaking a little. "You don't remember the 'McKinley High Welcome' you gave me this morning? The one where you emptied a cup of coloured ice over my head?"

Mickey gaped at Ian for a moment, his stomach twisting in knots. He was actually feeling bad about it. He wished he wasn't, wished he could laugh in the kid's face and tell him that he would play by his rules and nobody would get hurt, but he couldn't. He didn't want to hurt him, didn't want him to think he was a monster, but at the same time, this was exactly what he wanted, because everyone had to perceive Mickey in the same light, or his reputation at McKinley would be destroyed. He wasn't ready for that, he never would be, but he wasn't sure it would be an easy fete to treat this boy like a piece of garbage on a sidewalk.

"Oh, right, that," he muttered, collecting himself. "Didn't anyone tell you you're not supposed to talk back to me?"

Ian rolled his cerulean eyes and Mickey saw a flicker in them and he knew what that meant; That not one person had spoken to Ian all day, at least none that weren't threatening him with cups of ice. He didn't know what to say, then, because the knots in his stomach had tightened and he felt the urge to reach across and pat Ian on the shoulder, tell him that it wasn't all bad here, that he would have the guys lay off him, but he knew that this would never be a possibility. If he did that, popular as he was, he would be outcast. There were more of them than there was him and he could not risk expulsion, his entire future depended on his senior year and he wasn't about to let some kid with pretty eyes get in the way.

"Look," Ian said finally, eyes on his book. "Do you want me to just do this paper and we can just say we both did it? Then we won't have to—"

"No," Mickey interjected and Ian turned to look at him, eyes filled with curiosity. He'd spoken too quickly, he knew that, but he wasn't about to let the entire plan go to waste, especially when it had been going so well. He still wasn't sure what he hoped to achieve at the end of all this, but part of him told him to keep going, see why it was so important for him to do this, see why he couldn't seem to rid the idea from his mind. "Gallagher, I'm a straight A student. I don't need anyone to do my work for me. Besides," he picked up his book, mostly because he needed something to preoccupy his now shaking hands. "I kinda like this book."

"You like 'Jane Eyre'," Ian said, his voice filled with surprise. "Really?"

Mickey smiled, then.

"Yes, why does that come as such a shock to you?"

Ian shrugged his shoulders and shook his head, small tufts of his brown hair slipping over the tips of his pale ears.

"You don't seem like the type," was all he said.

"I'm full of surprises," Mickey informed him, with a smirk and if he didn't know better, he would have said he'd been flirting with him, but that couldn't be, because Mickey had Quinn and Mickey didn't even like guys and in the extremely far out event that he did, he was pretty sure that his choice in men would have stretched far beyond Ian Gallagher.

Ian's cheeks were flushing now, his eyes locked on the graffitied table in front of him. Mickey felt a little uncomfortable, because he hadn't meant to say that and he most definitely hadn't meant it to come out the way it had. He decided to avert attention from the statement.

"So, listen," he began. "We're going to do this properly. We're going to get an A on this thing, so," he reached across and grabbed the pen that was sitting on the desk in front of Ian. He tugged Ian's copy of 'Jane Eyre' out of his grasp, leaving him open-mouthed. He went to protest but stopped still when he saw Mickey scribbling on the inside cover of the book. "Here's my number, so we can make some sort of arrangement. You'd better give me yours, just in case you decide not to call me and do this thing by yourself, thus inhibiting my learning experience and spurning my ability to work as a team," he shoved his book forward and held out the pen. Ian took it, cautiously, then opened Mickey's book and scrawled his phone number inside. Mickey watched him as he wrote. He looked a little dazed, disbelief on his face, his eyes blinking a few too many times, his long, dark lashes fluttering down into the hollows beneath his eyes.

When they had exchanged numbers, Mickey looked at Ian and smiled, properly this time, no force, no smirk, no feigned confidence, just a Mickey smile.

"Cool," he said, simply.

Ian nodded, just nodded, not speaking a word. Mickey was running out of things to say to him. Luckily, the bell rang soon after, signalling the end of class, so he didn't have to think of a conversation starter. He stood up and looked down at Ian, who returned his gaze, still looking confused.

"I'll call you about our first meeting and we can get started as soon as possible," Mickey said.

Ian nodded again and began packing his things away.

Mickey had been far too nice to him and if the guys heard it back, somehow, he would be teased to no end. He zipped his bag up, mind reeling, in an endeavour to come up with a way to redeem himself. Ian stood up then and began to turn away.

"Oh, and Ian?" Mickey said, stopping him in his tracks.

"Yeah?" Ian turned his head back to Mickey.

Mickey forced himself to meet Ian's gaze. He held it there as he spoke, hoping it would help endorse the threatening statement he was about to give.

"If we don't get a perfect A on this, I'll make sure you don't get a minute of peace at this place," Mickey said, almost reluctantly. "You got that?"

Ian exhaled a little, his chest falling, eyes darting sideways. Mickey ignored the pressing need to take it all back, because that would be beyond ridiculous.

"Fine, whatever," he murmured, before turning away and walking outside.

Mickey smiled because he'd fixed it, but that stupid nagging feeling was still there and he just couldn't figure out why.

* * *

"How's school?" Burt Gallagher asked his son at the dinner table, as he reached across for the bottle of ketchup.

Ian watched, knife and fork in hand, as his dad struggled to open the ketchup bottle, muttering obscenities at it, under his breath. Eventually, he laid down his cutlery and leaned across and took the bottle from his father.

"Here," he said, softly. "Let me do it."

He pulled the lid open with a loud pop and handed the bottle back to his father, who muttered a small 'thank you', before turning the bottle upside down and squeezing a large blob of ketchup onto his plate, next to the peas.

"Well?" Burt said, pushing his fork into the breast of chicken on his plate. "How's school?" he asked again.

Ian's dad had been in hospital a couple of months previously. He'd almost died from a heart attack, brought on by an arrhythmia and Ian didn't like to worry him too much. He had already gotten far too stressed out about what had gone down back at his old school, with the bullying and the harassment and Ian was sure the stress did him no good and had probably played a part in the heart attack coming about. He wasn't ready for a repeat, he wanted his dad healthy. Burt had been so enthusiastic when he had told Ian about the garage that was to let over in Lima and that he had already put down a deposit to rent it out and Ian couldn't bear to crush him like that, not when it seemed like things were going so well for him. So, Ian did what he did best when it came to his emotional state; He lied.

"It's great, dad," he said, smiling for affect.

"It is?" Burt grinned, mouth full.

Ian grimaced at the food protruding from his father's lips, then nodded, quickly.

"Yes," he confirmed. "The kids are really nice here."

Ian hadn't ever had friends, at least not since kindergarten. He'd played with some of the kids back then, back when no one was any different, when kids were just kids and stereotypes and labels had not yet been applied. Sometimes Ian missed those days. Sometimes he longed for friendship. He wasn't even asking for a bunch of friends, but maybe just one he could talk to sometimes, one he could laugh with, one who would be there. Most of the time, he told himself that he was better off as he was; Alone. He liked to be alone with his thoughts, figured he didn't need anyone, but on days when he sat alone with nothing to do, or when he saw his dad watching him with pitying eyes, he wished he had a friend.

So when Ian said that, about the kids being nice, it seemed to convince Burt, because he looked genuinely relieved as he reached across and laid a warm hand over his son's. He raised his eyes to meet his Ian's, a smile on his face.

"I wanted to say that I'm proud of you, Ian," Burt told his son. "I know it's been tough and I know it's not easy, startin' a new school and having to make new friends, but.." he paused, searching for words. Burt wasn't really the heart-to-heart-talks type of guy. "Well—I'm just really proud of you, is all and your mom would be, too."

Ian smiled at his father, feeling the tears welling up in his eyes and he couldn't tell if he wanted to cry because his dad had said he was proud of him, or because he'd been lying and life really wasn't getting any better and it didn't look as if it was going to any time soon.

"Thank you, dad," he said, finally and Burt responded with a small shrug of his broad shoulders, before shoving more food in his mouth.

After dinner, Burt went back to the garage to finish up a few things and Ian took the plates to the sink and started washing. Half way through, his cell phone sounded from the coffee table in the living room. Ian's heart was racing as he dried his hands, wondering who could be calling him and why. What if it had to do with his dad? What if he'd fallen sick again? What if—

"Hello?" Ian said, breathlessly, once he'd pressed the phone to his ear.

The voice on the other end was the last person he had been expecting to hear.

"Ian?" the voice said. "It's me, Mickey."

* * *

"You think I can lift him? Dude, _have you seen me?_ " Mickey said, referring to his height. Mickey was what many would call short. His mom had called him 'fun sized' in the past. He preferred short.

Iggyerman and Dave Karofsky had Ian pushed up against a brick wall around the side of the school where the trash cans were. Mickey was standing back against one of the large industrial dumpsters, the pungent scent of rotten food filling his nostrils, but he was pretty sure that this wasn't the reason he was feeling so sick.

"You don't say much, do you?" Iggy said, pushing Ian harder against the wall.

Mickey tried to avoid looking at his face, because it made him feel uncomfortable, but Ian emitted a low whining sound when Iggy had pushed him, causing Mickey to glance across. Ian's eyes were half closed, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. His eyebrows were furrowing in the centre and Mickey could see the distress in his eyes, almost as if he was pleading that he put an end to this.

"We don't even know his name," Karofsky snarled, twisting the arm he had a hold of in his strong hands.

Ian whimpered again and Mickey had to force his eyes down to the ground.

"I said," Karofsky said in an almost-growl. "What's your name?" and he shoved Ian's arm back into the wall, causing him to make another sound, clearly in pain.

"Ian," he breathed, his voice catching. "Ian Gallagher."

Iggy and Karofsky started to laugh, as they pulled him simultaneously by the arms towards the trash can, too preoccupied with the entire charade to notice Mickey was not laughing as he stepped out of the way. Mickey watched as his friends clutched Ian by the arms and by the legs and then lifted him and flung him inside the disgusting can. The sound of Ian groaning and Iggy and Karofsky's laughter filled the air and Mickey didn't smile until Iggy raised a hand to high-five him.

He wondered as he walked away, if Ian would show up later on when they were supposed to meet for their first session.

* * *

"You came," were the first words Mickey whispered to Ian when he walked up to him sitting alone at the back of the public library.

Ian said nothing simply pulled out the chair on the other side of the desk and sat down, placing his bag on the ground by his feet. He reached down and pulled out his book, a sheet of paper and a pen. He looked up to see Mickey staring at him, fixedly. He stared back at him, because he didn't know what he was supposed to say.

Ian had heard so many things about the great Mickey Milkovich and his 'super hot' girlfriend and it was only his third day at school. The girls wanted him, the guys wanted to be him. Basically, Mickey Milkovich had it all.

He really was incredibly good looking, it was no wonder that he had the most sought after girl at school as his girlfriend. Ian hadn't really looked at him properly until that moment, because the first time they'd had an encounter, Ian had been cowering on the floor with his hands over his head. The second time, he'd avoided eye contact and when he had looked at him, he'd held his gaze for only a short time, due to the fact that despite his height, Mickey Milkovich was pretty intimidating.

But now, looking at him properly, Ian could definitely see the appeal. Mickey had eyes like warm honey, dark pupils in the centre, the edges of his irises lined in black. Dark, full lashes stood in a canopy over his eyes and fell down into the hollows beneath every time he blinked. His lashes were exceptionally long and thick for a guy. His sallow skin was unblemished, dark coils escaped his gelled hair and fell down over his forehead and across the tops of his ears. His lips were full and bow-shaped and a peach-orange colour, the inner areas closest to the inside of his mouth a shade darker, sort of a bitter sweet pinky-orange. There was no question about it; Mickey Milkovich was beautiful.

"Um," Ian said, prying his eyes off of Mickey. He looked down at his book and picked it up, nervously. "Do you—I mean, we should get started," he said, ignoring the slight hitch in his voice and the loud pitter-patter of his heart. "What—what did you think? Of the book?"

He cursed himself for behaving so utterly ridiculous, feeling the heat rising up the back of his neck and seeping up into his cheeks.

"I haven't finished it," Mickey shrugged, simply.

Ian stared at him again.

"You haven't finished it?" he said. "Then why are we here?"

Mickey looked uncomfortable and then shrugged. Ian sighed quietly and sat back in his seat.

"What's going on?" he asked and Mickey gave him a confused look, dark brows furrowing in the centre. "Is this some kind of set up? Am I going to walk out of here and get tied up and thrown in a river, or something?"

Mickey gaped at Ian, as if the thought hadn't even crossed his mind and Ian felt sort of dumb for saying what he'd been thinking out loud, but things like this were forever happening to him and for a moment, he had really believed this was what was going down.

"No," Mickey uttered. "No, not at all."

"Oh," was all Ian said.

They were silent for a few moments and Ian could almost taste the awkwardness in the air. Neither of them made eye contact and it was Mickey who spoke first.

"You know, if we're going to be working together for, like, the entire year," he said to the table in front of him. "We should probably get to know each other a little better."

Ian raised a thin brow, because the same guy who had drowned him in icy corn syrup and stood by and watched him get thrown head first into a dumpster was sitting here asking him to get to know him.

"Look, Mickey," Ian said, his name sounding strange on his lips. "We don't need to 'get to know each other', we just need to get these stupid assignments done, so that you can get on with your beautiful life and I can get on with my life as a moving target."

Ian wasn't the type of person who sat down and allowed people to belittle him. He had learned a long time ago that talking back and showing he wasn't afraid never really got you any where, but shoved inside a locker or in ER with a broken arm, which is why he had refrained from defending himself from the footballers. However, now, sitting here with the great Mickey Milkovich, who looked so awkward for what had to have been the first time in his life, he felt he could just say it, that he could tell him how things were going to go and that he didn't want to get to know him, that he didn't care about his perfect life or his perfect face or his perfect girlfriend, he just wanted to get this thing finished so that he wouldn't have to spend any more time around him than was absolutely necessary.

"You don't know a thing about me," Mickey told him.

"Yeah," Ian said, matter-of-factly. "I don't _want_ to know anything about you. I just want to do this and go home."

He was sure Mickey was going to leap across the table and get him in a head lock and God, if he got blood on these jeans he was going to send Mickey Milkovich one hell of a dry cleaning bill. But Mickey didn't leap across the table, in fact, he barely moved. He blinked a few times, his dark lashes fluttering, then spoke, in a low voice.

"You said my life was beautiful," he said. "My life is far from beautiful, so don't go around making assumptions about me until you know what you're talking about."

Ian sighed in frustration. This guy was insufferable.

"Okay, cool, whatever," he said, gathering his things and shoving them down into his bag by his feet. "Look, I'm going to go home, because you are clearly unprepared. Go home, read the book and we'll try again."

"You're an asshole."

"Excuse me?" Ian said, in an incredulous tone. "You're the one who attacked me with a slushie and threw me in a garbage can and _I'm_ an asshole?"

Mickey's bright eyes studied Ian, confusion passing through them. Ian watched as confusion turned to frustration and Mickey leaned back in his chair and folded his muscled arms.

"I didn't throw you in a garbage can," he said.

"Well, you were there when it happened, so you were an accessory."

"Look," Mickey said, with a sigh. "We have to work together for a whole year, we may as well stop snapping at one another."

Ian saw something, then, when Mickey's body seemed to go limp, his eyes closing, chest rising and then falling. He looked weary, like he hadn't slept for a long time. When he opened his eyes, they found Ian's and he saw that they were a little red-rimmed and watery. It turned out that when you looked closely enough at Mickey Milkovich, he actually wasn't that perfect. He was beautiful, that couldn't be disputed, but there was definitely more to him than met the eye.

"Alright," Ian said, quietly, because Mickey didn't look as if he had it in him to fight any more. "Okay, getting to know each other. You start."

Mickey looked up, eyes wide with surprise. He didn't say anything for a moment, then coughed a little.

"Um," he began. "I don't know what to say." Something seemed to change in him again, then, the defences suddenly back up. "I'm sure you've heard everything there is to know about me."

"Cut the crap, Mickey," Ian said and Mickey's eyes shot up. It didn't look as if he was used to people, especially people like Ian, talking down to him and giving him orders. "You either want to do this, or you don't, it's entirely your decision."

Mickey didn't say anything, just nodded, eyes on the table in front of him. Ian was about to suggest that he go first, but on further thought, he realised he had no idea what he was supposed to say.

"We could ask each other questions? Make it easier?"

Mickey raised his golden brown eyes to Ian's and nodded again.

"Okay," he shrugged, slightly. "Why did you move here?"

Ian's eyes flashed with amusement. He hadn't been expecting that to be the first question out of Mickey's mouth.

"Really? No 'how old are you?' or 'do you have any siblings?' or 'who's your favourite American Idol contestant of all time?'"

Mickey's sallow cheeks seemed to flush a light pink then and Ian decided he wouldn't tease him about it any more, because he knew how that felt.

"Bullies," he said.

"Bullies?"

"Yes, bullies, I'm sure you're well acquainted with the term," he rolled his eyes, not going too easy on his oppressor. "It got out of hand and I broke a lot of bones and sported a lot of black eyes and had to throw away a lot of blood-stained clothes, so here I am."

Mickey's eyes filled with pity for a split second, then he seemed to shake it away, not allowing himself to show emotion, but Ian had caught it.

"Your turn," Mickey muttered, not looking at Ian.

Ian thought for a minute, because apparently they weren't asking basic questions.

"Why do you do it?"

"Why do I do what?"

"Bully kids."

Mickey wavered here, like he didn't know, like he honestly had no idea why he did what he did. He looked uneasy and like he wanted to sleep for a long time, but Ian couldn't take the question back, wouldn't take it back, because this guy had covered him from head to toe in slushie on his first day at his new school and sometimes, payback was a bitch.

"Because they deserve it," Mickey said, but he didn't sound completely convinced.

"No," Ian responded, gravely. "They don't. None of us are any better than each other, regardless of what you've been lead to believe all your life. Making someone else feel bad doesn't make you better than them, it just makes you a bully and no one wants to be a bully. They do it because they're trying to look tough, because they're insecure, because they're hiding something, they do it for a multitude of reasons."

"Well, if you already know, why did you ask?"

"So, what's your reason?" Ian enquired, ignoring Mickey's question. He leaned forward to study Mickey, who was avoiding his gaze like the plague.

"This is stupid," Mickey groaned, quietly.

"Really?" Ian asked. "I don't think it is. I think there's more to you and that's why you do it. Most of the time, you don't even look like you want to do it. I saw you that first day, with the slushie. You almost didn't do it. Then earlier on at the garbage cans, you stayed away and I saw you with that boy in the wheelchair yesterday, too. You didn't push him as hard as the other guys."

Mickey didn't speak, just looked alarmed and as if he'd been called out for committing a serious crime. Ian didn't drop his gaze, hoping Mickey would look up, because eye contact would probably get him talking. Ian wasn't sure if he was right about Mickey, but that flicker in his eyes had meant something and Ian knew about pretences, about pretending like everything was absolutely fine, when your world was falling down around you. It didn't seem as if Mickey Milkovich's world was falling down around him, but there was definitely something there and Ian wanted to know what.

"You know, if you're such a god around McKinley, why do you look like you're on death row every time the other guys look at you to do something horrible to someone else?"

"You think you know everything, Gallagher, but you don't," Mickey told him. "Those guys? They're my friends. We are at the top of the food chain, while you're not even at the bottom, you're further down, where the carcasses of those who came before you lay. It's our job to keep things the way they're supposed to be. If we didn't have some order around here, math geeks and glee clubbers would be running around like they owned the place. That's why I'm there."

Ian almost laughed, but didn't when he realised Mickey wasn't really speaking the whole truth. Maybe part of him did believe it was what he was supposed to do, probably because he had been so used to telling himself that, but he was very much transparent, in that Ian could see the hesitance in his eyes, the fidgeting of his fingers, the chewing on his lip and he knew that Mickey was lying, maybe even to himself, to make himself look better.

"Sometimes, it's okay to let your guard down, you know," Ian told him, softly. "If you don't, you'll just be angry all the time."

"What is this?" Mickey asked, smirk back on his face. "'Convert your bully into a cowardly, little faggot like yourself day'?"

Ian reached down and grabbed his bag, then stood up and Mickey watched him from his chair.

"You know what?" he said. "You can call me all the names in the world, it's nothing I haven't heard before and I'll get over it, they're just words, but you?" he stood up straight, clutching his bag to his side. "You're just going to be mad at the world and you'll never be fully happy. So, calling me a faggot isn't going to help you find your way in life. Maybe you should concentrate on yourself before worrying about what other people are doing."

Mickey didn't say anything, but Ian saw him flinch a little. He sighed, then, because Mickey didn't look as if he was going to respond any time soon.

"Just—contact me when you're done with the book, so we can get this done and we don't have to communicate until our next assignment and you can go back to pretending to be the popular guy who has it all. In the end, I'm going to get away, make something of myself and if I fail, so be it, at least I'll have tried, but you'll always be here and you'll always be that same broken, miserable, angry guy you are now."

And he turned away and walked out, leaving Mickey alone with his thoughts.

* * *

 **If you're still reading, please let me know what you think! I'll post the next part tomorrow :)**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3:**

It wasn't until Friday night that Mickey decided it was time to call Ian and arrange a meeting. He had finished the book after he had gone home from the library on Wednesday evening, but he didn't want Ian to think he had gone straight home and done exactly as he had instructed. So, he waited it out and after dinner, he excused himself from the table. His mother waved a hand, not even looking in his direction. His father had already disappeared out of the room to make a call in his office. The dinner plates would be in exactly the same place in the morning.

Mickey closed his bedroom door and collapsed onto the bed, making a mental note to go back downstairs later and load the plates into the dishwasher. He dialled Ian's number, then pressed his phone to his ear, the dial tone starting up and waited for a long time, listening to the even rings the phone was making. Mickey had almost hung up, deciding Ian was either busy, or simply didn't want to talk to him. He guessed he couldn't blame him, really. Mickey and the guys had bullied him every day this week. Not a day had passed that he didn't get a cup or two of slushie emptied over his perfectly coiffed head. Mickey had even locked him in the janitor's closet on Thursday morning. Apparently, he'd been left there until lunch time.

"Hello?" Ian said, finally answering his phone. Mickey took comfort in the sound of his voice. He didn't know why, didn't even want to know why, because it freaked him out. He didn't want to think about it.

"I finished the book."

"Mickey," Ian said and his voice gave away no emotion. Mickey couldn't tell if he was happy to hear from him or not. He reminded himself that he didn't care either way, then went on talking.

"Yeah," he said. "So, can we meet up tomorrow, or something?"

"Tomorrow," Ian said, thoughtfully.

Mickey wondered what else Ian might have planned for tomorrow. Maybe he was visiting a relative. Or getting some super early Christmas shopping done. Or seeing his boyfriend.

Mickey felt the empty feeling returning to the pit of his stomach. He hadn't experienced it since he had gotten home from school that day and he'd thought it was finally gone, but apparently not. He was going to have to see a doctor soon, fearful that he might be developing an ulcer, because there was no other explanation.

"Yeah, tomorrow's fine," Ian said finally on the other end. "Where?"

Mickey felt a little flustered. He was feeling like that a lot lately. Earlier that day, Quinn had been telling him some 'super important gossip' and he'd blanked on her completely. She was, needless to say, less than amused.

"Uh, wherever," he replied, weakly.

"Wherever," Ian repeated. "We could do it on a bridge? Or maybe we could just sit ourselves on the side of some empty road? Oh, I know! On our way in here, I saw a park with this cute, little sandbox in the centre. Do you think if we asked nicely, the kids would let us borrow it for, like, an hour or so?"

"Yes, God, Gallagher, you're _hilarious_ ," Mickey rolled his eyes.

"I _am_ hilarious, actually, but that time I was just being smart, something you obviously wouldn't know anything about," Ian said, in that snooty tone. "You did say wherever, though, so I assumed the location was open for any suggestions and I like to be creative."

Mickey simply groaned because Ian was a frustrating son of a bitch sometimes. He wondered why he had ever felt that tiny twinge of pity for him that first day of school.

"Library, then," Ian stated.

"No."

"No?"

"No," Mickey said, again, feeling himself flushing. Luckily, no one could see him at that moment.

"Why not?"

He had to ask that, didn't he?

"I sort of got—erm, barred."

" _You got barred from the public library?_ "

Mickey nodded, then realised Ian couldn't see him, so he mumbled an affirmative.

"How does one get barred from the public library?"

Mickey felt stupid. He knew he wasn't stupid, just that some pretty stupid things happened to him sometimes, particularly in the last week, he noticed. The truth was that after Ian left him in the library on Wednesday, he'd felt sick to his stomach, for whatever reason. He had no idea, why, he just knew that he needed to get to a bathroom pronto. Except he didn't make it to a bathroom. He'd thrown up right there, in the back corner of the library and the librarian had barred him. It was one of the single most embarrassing things to ever happen to him.

He told Ian, who simply collapsed into fits of laughter. Mickey scowled, hoping Ian could sense his displeasure.

"Oh my God," Ian said, laughter depleting. "You're _serious_ , aren't you?"

"Of course, I'm serious."

"Oh, wow," Ian chuckled a little. "What happened? What did you eat?"

It occurred to Mickey then that he was having a phone conversation with Ian Gallagher, like it was the most natural thing in the world, which it most definitely was not.

"I don't know," he shrugged, because he didn't know. He had no idea what had happened. One minute, he was relatively normal, then Ian had begun talking about the future and he got that churning feeling in the pit of his stomach and then Ian was gone and he'd vomited. Maybe he really was getting an ulcer.

"Can they even legally bar you from the public library for bodily malfunctions?"

Mickey grimaced when Ian said the words 'bodily malfunctions'. It made him feel a little sick again.

"Evidently," he deadpanned.

"Well, meet me there tomorrow anyway."

"What? What the hell for?" Mickey asked, in an incredulous tone. Had Ian not heard him the first time, or did he just want to hear him say it again for kicks?

"Tell you what," Ian said, patiently. "I'll even pick you up, okay?"

Mickey groaned as he sat up. He was genuinely confused. It was as if Ian had forgotten everything he had just told him.

"About.. five-ish?"

"Are you trying to ask me out, Gallagher?" Mickey asked and immediately regretted it.

"Of course not," Ian said, brightly. "I'm too good for you."

Mickey snorted at that. Ian was a funny guy if he really believed that. Either funny or really, really dense.

"So, tomorrow at five," Ian finalised.

"You don't even know where I live—"

"I'll ask around."

"Even though I could just tell you?"

Ian chuckled then.

"But then I wouldn't get to have fun finding out all the scandalous stories about you!"

"Right," Mickey muttered, rolling his eyes yet again. "Do you really think you're too good for me?" he asked, because he honestly wanted to know if Ian was being humorous, or was just stark raving bonkers.

"Absolutely," Ian confirmed. "You wear far too much hair gel, your eyebrows look like burnt toast cut into those little triangular segments and your best friend has a Mohawk. Further speculation is not necessary."

Mickey said nothing, because the guy sort of had a point, at least about Iggy.

"Anyway, seeing as how I'm too good for you, I shouldn't be wasting valuable time talking to you when I could be conversing with someone in my own league," Ian said and Mickey could _hear_ the smile in his voice. "So, I'll see you tomorrow."

Ian hung up without another word. Mickey sighed and threw his phone down, then went downstairs to do the dishes.

* * *

Mickey was dozing on his bed. His mind had been filled with so many thoughts and worries and things he wished he didn't have to deal with. This was his senior year, he was supposed to enjoy it. Instead, he was experiencing nothing but pressure and stress. His grades needed to stay up, he needed to continue excelling on the football team and he had to deal with his parent's strained relationship, his mother's borderline depression and his father's anger issues. He just wished everything would go away for a while.

And now he was feeling sick practically all the time. His stomach was playing up and there was something badly wrong, he knew that, but he couldn't bring himself to go to a doctor to have it confirmed. He couldn't eat, but felt hungry all the time. He had made so many self-diagnosis' that he was absolutely sure he was going to die.

Maybe he was just tired, though, tired of everything. He didn't want to have to work to keep up his reputation, didn't want to have to play the perfect son, didn't want to do anything except live life. And now this Gallagher kid was always around and he kind of liked that in some twisted part of his mind, but he also wished he had never met him, because Ian made him want to stop being the tough guy, made him want to just sit back and rest. He needed to do that, to rest and just stop for a while, but he couldn't and something about Ian caused Mickey to feel bad every time he did something to him.

Maybe it wasn't Ian, maybe it was just everything coming to a head. Maybe his body had just given in because it was weary. He drifted into slumber thinking about it and just as he fell into the clutches of sleep, a loud ringing sound clamoured in his ears. Mickey jumped, his heart hammering against his chest, that falling feeling overtaking him. He sat up and blinked, then reached for his phone on his bed side table.

"Hello?"

He wondered if it might be Ian. Ian had been the last person he'd spoken to.

"Hey, baby."

"Quinn," he said, lying back, pushing away the feeling of disappointment rising in his chest. There was no reason for disappointment, not when Quinn Fabray was calling him 'baby'.

"What are you doing?" she enquired in that raspy voice. Mickey thought she feigned that raspiness in an attempt to sound sexy. _And she does_ , he reminded himself.

"Just lying here."

"I feel like I haven't seen you in forever," she said, her voice filled with faux sadness. Mickey could almost hear her pouting.

"We saw each other at school today," Mickey said, stretching a bit.

"I know," Quinn said. "But I haven't _seen you_ in forever."

Mickey rolled his eyes instinctively, knowing exactly what Quinn meant. She always wanted to 'see him' and if Mickey was honest, sex with Quinn sort of felt like a bit of a chore. Maybe it was because he was so tired all the time.

"I was thinking," she said, almost purring. "My parents will be out all day tomorrow. Wanna come over?"

"I can't," he said. "I've got to work on an English paper."

Mickey felt Quinn's mood darkening, even over the phone.

" _You're blowing me off for an English paper?_ "

Mickey sighed and closed his eyes, wishing she didn't have to be so difficult all the time.

"I'm meeting with my English partner," he explained with as much patience as he could muster. He wanted to hang up so badly and just sleep. "Tomorrow's the only day he's free," he lied.

It was Quinn's turn to sigh then. She seemed to have calmed down, thank God.

"Alright," she said, sadly, then perked up a bit. "You know what you should do?"

"What?" Mickey asked, yawning. He really wasn't getting enough sleep.

"Touch yourself."

His eyes shot open and he choked a little bit.

" _Excuse me?_ "

Quinn's voice got louder, then and way more intense, her voice lower and raspier, words coming slower than before.

" _Touch yourself_ ," she repeated and Mickey resisted the urge to hang up immediately. "Come on, we haven't been together in so long. Let me make you feel good."

It was true, she and Mickey hadn't been together like that since June. Quinn and her family had gone on vacation to the Bahamas for the whole of July and August. He probably should do it, to keep her happy.

"Fine," he exhaled and sat up a little. "Whatever you want."

"Good!" Quinn said, chuckling a bit. "Are you touching yourself?"

Mickey rolled his eyes and unbuckled his belt. He pushed the zipper away and slid his hand past the waist band of his underwear. He wrapped his hand around his unaroused member.

"Yes," he replied, simply, pushing away the urge to yawn, eyes watering a bit.

He heard Quinn shifting a bit then settling.

"Pretend it's me there with you, okay?" she breathed and Mickey began to move his hand back and forth, his movements slow, because he wasn't in the mood right now. He was never in the mood any more.

"Pretend it's my hand, Mickey," she purred. "Pretend I'm right there with you, jerking you off."

He tried, he really, really tried, but he couldn't do it. His touch was doing nothing, Quinn's voice was doing nothing, _nothing was happening_. He sighed a bit.

"Does that feel good, babe?" Quinn asked, voice still low and rugged. "Are you close yet?"

 _Not by a long shot,_ he thought, but he couldn't tell Quinn that. He simply grunted in reply and pulled his hand out of his pants. He used his free hand to zip his jeans back up, then he just lay there with his eyes closed, listening to Quinn trying to seduce him over the phone.

"Mickey," Quinn said, after a while, voice louder now. "You're not making much noise."

He opened his eyes and thought hard for a second.

"My parents are home," he made his excuse.

"Oh," Quinn said and Mickey felt relieved that she wasn't going to start bugging him about why he was being quiet. She seemed to get a little excited, then. "That makes it sort of hot, don't you think? That you need to stay quiet?"

"Uh," Mickey furrowed his eyebrows. "Yeah, sure."

Quinn giggled a bit and Mickey felt his eyes rolling, as they so often did when he talked to her. In reality, they were only together because they were expected to be together. Most of the time, Mickey felt like screaming around her, because she was always telling him what to do and saying things that he didn't understand. But Quinn was the girl he had to be with, so he had no choice but to go along with what she wanted. Besides, he was too tired to fight any more.

"Are you almost there?" she asked. "Mickey, pretend that I'm right above you, my hands—"

"Actually, Quinn, my dad's coming, I'm gonna have to go," Mickey said, feigning disappointment. He knew that this was the only way she'd hang up without questioning him.

"Oh, alright," she said.

"I'll see you soon," Mickey said.

"Okay, baby," Quinn went on. "I love you."

Mickey hung up before replying. He flung the phone off to the side and lay back down, closing his eyes. All he needed was to sleep, because when you slept, everything went away, just for a little while.

* * *

"I've never seen you out of your letterman jacket before," was the first thing Ian said when he saw Mickey at 5.16 p.m. the following day.

"You're late," Mickey responded.

He climbed into the car in a dark jacket, white t-shirt and black jeans. He was also wearing far less hair gel. He looked better like this, Ian thought. He watched as Mickey clicked his seat belt closed, then started to drive.

"I said you're late," Mickey repeated, shifting his body slightly to look at Ian.

Ian smiled a little. Mickey was sort of— _tame_ sometimes. He was never like this at school. At school, he couldn't go five minutes without threatening someone. Now he was sort of.. approachable, Ian guessed, almost manageable.

"I was busy," Ian provided, as he deviated a corner.

Mickey looked uneasy as he twisted back around to look out the window. Ian couldn't help wondering as they drove in silence what it was that he was hiding, if anything. Maybe he was just strange and had no secrets. Except everyone had secrets. Ian knew that better than anyone.

Mickey's personality seemed to change like lightning. One minute he looked intimidating and angry, the next he looked as if he had the world's worries on his shoulders, as he stared off into nothingness. It was as if he needed to remind himself to be someone else, to be that strong, popular, cruel guy he had built himself up to be, when actually he was just human, just like everyone else; Trying to survive the many obstacles life seemed to throw his way and maybe this was the only way he knew how to do that. Ian was caught between hating him for everything he had done to him and pitying him, because it was fairly evident that he was unhappy.

They rode in silence and it was only when Ian parked the car in the library parking lot that Mickey spoke.

"What part of 'I can't be here' did you not understand?"

"The 'can't' part," Ian said, opening his door. "Come on."

Ian pushed the library door open and walked inside. Mickey followed, reluctantly, it seemed, endless threats spilling out of his mouth. Ian simply smiled and ignored his incessant arguing and walked right up to the main desk. The same lady from the last day sat there. She was a small woman, short and stumpy, a grizzled nest of hair surrounding her round face. A small pair of gold-wire spectacles sat on her pointed nose. She looked up at Ian and then her green eyes went to Mickey. Her eyes flashed and she stood up.

"You can't be here," she said.

Mickey sighed and spun around to head for the door, but Ian reached around and pulled him back by the sleeve. Mickey groaned and came back to stand an inch or two behind Ian.

"Excuse me, ma'am," Ian spoke politely and clearly. "I would like to enquire as to where the rule about vomiting in the library not being allowed is stated."

The librarian scowled at him, but didn't speak.

"It's just that, my friend here," he gestured back at Mickey, who looked more than a little uncomfortable. "Has been ill for the past few days. We have an assignment due soon and since he has been absent from school, we really need to get this done rather speedily. I'm not sure I've heard of this rule where you can't be spontaneously sick. It's not as if he had any control over it, otherwise, I'm sure he would have headed outside."

Ian held the librarian's gaze. He could feel Mickey gaping at him and he wanted to kick him and tell him to stop looking so dumbstruck and play along. The librarian stared at Ian for a couple of heart beats, then sighed.

"Alright, go ahead," she said, sitting back down. "But he does it again and he's cleaning it up."

"Thank you," Ian said and turned around. He pushed Mickey by the shoulders towards an empty table. Mickey shrugged him off. They sat down and took out their books, then.

"Not so goody two shoes, are we?" Mickey asked, studying Ian.

"What do you mean?" Ian asked, pulling a pen from his bag.

"I mean you just lied to a figure of authority."

"Ooh, authority, that's a big word, Milkovich," Ian smirked and Mickey shot him one of his trademark death glares.

"I'm going to strangle you or something some day, Gallagher," Mickey said, sounding exasperated. "You're so God damned _frustrating_."

Ian smiled, because he wasn't afraid of Mickey, not any more. He wasn't sure when he had made the transition from being absolutely terrified of what he was going to do to him, to feeling sorry for him and kind of wanting him to find some form of happiness in his seemingly miserable life.

"You wouldn't want to do that, Mickey," Ian shook his head. "You've been so dreadfully sick, we wouldn't want a relapse."

Mickey's mouth hung open for a split second, then his mouth developed into a smile and then he was laughing. Ian smiled, then, because it was sort of nice to see a good looking boy laugh and it was even better to know you had been the one to make him laugh, even though he didn't look at Mickey in _that way._

The librarian looked over and shushed them, which only caused them to laugh even harder and that was the first time Mickey Milkovich had laughed in the presence of Ian Gallagher.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4:**

The assignment was due the following month. Time seemed to sweep swiftly by and Ian and Mickey were a lot more at ease with one another. They met twice a week at the library and Mickey didn't seem to threaten Ian as much as he had done in the first couple of weeks. He still treated him like crap at school and sometimes out of school, but it was progress.

Or maybe not, since Mickey didn't really want to be nice to him. At the same time, however, he did and it was senseless and stupid, but it was also a fact. He denied it every day, but they had developed some form of indirect friendship. Ian was sort of nice to him sometimes, even though he treated him like garbage. Most of the time he looked at him like he was better than him and Mickey wasn't used to that. There was something about Ian that both intrigued and frustrated Mickey simultaneously. He still couldn't figure out why he was so intrigued by him, but he was.

"I think we're done," Ian said, scanning his blue eyes across the essay for the umpteenth time. "And we're a week early," he smiled, pleased with the work they had done.

Mickey smiled, then frowned when he realised their weekly meetings were going to come to a stop for a little while, until the next assignment was given out. He guessed he sort of liked spending time with Ian. He would never tell anyone that, but Ian was kind of funny and he didn't feel as if he had to play tough guy as much around him. Sure, he had to send a few insults his way and put him down in order to keep the bully/victim policy in tact, but Ian didn't look at him like he expected anything of him. Mickey friends, Puck and Karofsky and the others, they looked to him to instigate almost everything, they looked to him for answers, looked to him when they needed a leader. Mickey was sort of tired of that.

"So, um," Mickey stammered a little bit. "Since this assignment was on cultural context, I'm betting the next one is on theme. We could get started early?" he offered, hopefully, much to his own chagrin.

Ian laid the essay down and raised his cyan eyes to meet Mickey's. Mickey was sort of distracted by what Ian was wearing. He always dressed so elaborately. His sweater was—Mickey wasn't even sure what it was. It was all colours and shapes and must have been hell to get into. He wore skin tight jeans and black combat boots. Mickey wondered how Ian managed to walk in those jeans. He was forever wearing them.

"Mickey, we have lots of time to start the next one," Ian reasoned.

Mickey sighed and sat back, regretting it the moment he did it. Why did he want to spend time with Ian anyway? It was ridiculous. He had friends. He didn't need Ian.

"So, there's this party on Sunday," Mickey found himself saying. It was too late to take it back now. "I know you're sort of—not making any, you know, friends around here."

It was true. Mickey sometimes saw Ian sitting across the canteen by himself, eating carrot sticks, head bowed and avoiding eye contact with anyone. Sometimes he felt like standing up from his place at the 'cool table' and walking across to sit with him. Most of the time, Ian's conversation was far more interesting than anything his friends had to say.

"I was thinking you could come—go," Mickey went on. "If you wanted."

Ian's eyes were wide, his face a mask of confusion. Mickey felt himself flushing madly. Why did he have to go and say something like that?

"I don't do parties," Ian shook his head.

"Ever?"

"Never."

Mickey couldn't remember a time when there had been a party he hadn't gone to.

"Make an exception," Mickey shrugged.

"Why?"

Good question. Mickey couldn't have told him why, because he didn't know the answer. He regained his composure then rattled off an excuse.

"Because I'm tired of you moping around the school by yourself," he told him. "It's bad enough that you're there in the first place, but you go around with your head down like it's the end of the world. At least if you had some other losers to hang around with, I wouldn't have to see your ridiculous frown every time I turn a corner."

Ian's expression didn't change much. He shook his head a bit.

"I'm not even invited."

"I'm inviting you right now," Mickey shrugged.

"It's not your party."

"It's as good as. If I invite someone, they're invited, simple as that. It's imy/i school, Gallagher and if I want to invite someone to a party, then I'll invite them."

"Must be great to be you," Ian rolled his eyes. "I can't tell if I'm repulsed or touched at the offer, but I'm not going to go."

Ian Gallagher was the most frustrating human being on the planet.

"Why?" Mickey groaned, quietly.

"I have no reason," Ian retorted. "Plus, I won't know anyone."

"You know me."

"Yes, Mickey, I know you, but in public, you only ever seem to empty iced drinks over my head, or lock me in flipped over porta-potties, so that's not really a comforting factor."

He had a point, Mickey guessed, but he wanted him there. He couldn't have said why, he just did.

"So, you won't come."

Ian shook his head, his perfect coiff not budging.

"My life is awkward enough without adding an hour or two standing by myself at some guy's party that I don't even know."

Mickey was at a loss. Ian, like his hair, was not budging an inch. He wondered if maybe he could convince him before Sunday.

"So, tomorrow," he said, changing the subject. "Do you want to start the next assignment right after school?"

Ian looked uneasy then, his eyes leaving Mickey's.

"Can't."

"Why not?" Mickey asked, eyes slitting to study Ian.

Ian mumbled something that Mickey didn't quite catch. He asked him to repeat it.

"I've got glee club," he muttered, quietly.

" _Glee club?_ "Mickey sluttered. "You're in _glee club?_ "

"Actually, I'm auditioning," Ian said, hesitantly.

"You _sing_?"

"That's sort of what glee club is. Singing and dancing and stuff," Ian nodded, looking at Mickey like he'd just gotten 1+1 wrong.

"Sing something," Mickey challenged, sitting back in his chair, arms folded.

"Mickey," Ian said, patiently. "You have been barred from this library once, we can't afford to have me barred for breaking out in song amongst the romance novels."

Mickey glanced around. Yes, they were in the romance section. For some reason, that made him feel uncomfortable. He was still feeling really sick, but it wasn't as frequent now as it had been before.

"Why are you auditioning for glee?" Mickey asked, because he genuinely didn't understand. "Don't you think you're already enough of an outcast, without adding prancing around in skirts and ringing bells to the mix?"

Ian scowled at him.

"They don't ring bells or wear skirts—well, maybe some of the girls do," he said, looking thoughtful. "But I'm going because I like to sing and I don't have much else to do. So what if it pushes me even further down on the 'cool scale?'" he twisted his fingers into air quotes. "You guys give me hell as it is, I figure it can't really get much worse."

Mickey frowned. Ian really had no idea.

* * *

It had happened on his third Monday at McKinley High. He had been walking to his locker after lunch, minding his own business, when they had struck. The first person he saw was Puckerman—the guy who looked as if he had roadkill on his head. Karofsky, Azimio and Mickey all came into view right after him. They all wore creepy smiles—all except Mickey who just looked a little green—as they walked right up to him.

Karofsky pushed him back against the wall and his bag fell from his shoulder. Ian's heart was hammering away in his chest, his mind clouded with fear and anger and the urge to push them away from him. Sometimes—most of the time, when this happened, he wanted to turn to Mickey and scream at him, ask him why he was like this, because even though he still behaved like he was superior to Ian while they were alone, it was a far cry from how he behaved towards him when he was with his friends.

"Why do you gotta walk around lookin' so God damned _gay_ all the time?" Karofsky asked, disgust on his face.

"Oh, I don't know, maybe because I'm gay?" Ian offered, rolling his eyes.

Despite the fact that he knew it was better to keep your mouth shut and just let them do what they had to do, sometimes he couldn't control it.

"Don't talk back to me, Gallagher," Karofsky said between clenched teeth as he shoved Ian harder against the wall.

Ian's back ached instantly, his skin throbbing where he had been shoved. Suddenly, Puckerman was at his side, tugging his jacket off his shoulders. Ian jerked out of his reach, but Puck was a jock, he was stronger than Ian.

"Your clothes belong to some glamorous grandma," Puck said, holding Ian's jacket between his thumb and forefinger, as if he might catch a disease from it if he went any closer.

"At least the grandma is glamorous," Ian uttered. "It's better than wearing the same jacket every day and not washing it— _ever_ —like you guys do."

Ian knew that was a lie, he had smelled Mickey enough to know that he washed his jacket almost daily.

"That's it, lady boy," Mickey said, stepping forward, but he didn't look as if his heart was in it. "You're going to be very, very sorry."

Ian looked at Mickey, looked him right in the eye and urged him to back down, tried to send him some sort of telepathic message, but obviously, that didn't work. Mickey wasn't really a bad guy. He had learnt that over the past few weeks. He just believed that this was who he was. He didn't know how to be any other way.

Azimio was snarling now as he tugged a locker door open, snapping the lock with his strong hands. Ian swallowed hard, realising what was about to happen. Mickey took him by the right arm, Karofsky took him by the left and began lifting him off his feet towards the open locker. Puck laughed like a hyena as he threw Ian's jacket into a trash can.

Ian's heart was beating fast. He looked to Mickey, trying to send him messages. _You don't have to do this, you're better than this_ , but Mickey avoided his eyes entirely. Ian had been inside a locker before. It had been the worst twenty minutes of his life and he couldn't stop the coughing for days afterwards. He wasn't sure his emotional state was going to be able to handle this again.

 _Maybe he's not better than this_ , Ian thought as Mickey and Karofsky lifted him higher and began pushing him into the tight metal space.

Then the clip clop of heels sounded down the corridor and the jocks' heads all swung round towards the direction in which the sound was coming.

"Shit," Karofsky hissed and they let him go. "You're lucky this time, Gallagher," he said, eyes burning through Ian.

Mickey, Karofsky, Puck and Azimio hurried away then and Ian pressed his back against the wall, relieved that they had left him alone. He wondered if fate was on his side for once. He stayed there for a long time. The teacher—or whoever had been around the corner—never came in his direction. He stood up straight then, because something had been stabbing him in the back. He turned around to see a thumbtack, holding a flier against the wall.

 _ **NEW DIRECTIONS!**_

 _ **LOOKING FOR NEW MEMBERS!**_

 _ **GLEE, BY ITS VERY DEFINITION, IS ABOUT OPENING YOURSELF UP TO JOY!**_

 _ **AUDITIONS ON TUESDAY AFTER SCHOOL IN THE CHOIR ROOM!**_

Underneath was an empty sign up sheet and a pen attached to a frayed string. Ian stared at it for a moment. _Fate_ , he thought briefly, before taking the pen in his still shaking hand and scribbling his name on the audition sheet.

 _Ian Gallagher_.

He dropped the pen and walked away, heading towards his locker.

He could do with some joy in his life.

* * *

On Thursday after school, as he walked towards the choir room, Ian wondered why he had signed up for a glee club audition. He was beyond nervous and had never even sung in public before. He didn't really have a voice like everyone else did. He wouldn't fit in, wouldn't suit the dynamic they had already set up. However, he kept on going, because _fate_ , he reminded himself, was on his side.

He took a deep breath, then walked through the open door, to be met by thirteen sets of eyes. Ian felt himself blush, feeling awkward with everyone looking at him like that. He was probably going to fall.

A teacher with curly hair grinned at him.

"Hi!" he said, enthusiastically. "You must be Ian Gallagher! Welcome to glee club! I'm Mr Schuester!"

Ian tried to smile, but failed miserably.

"So, do you have a song prepared?" Mr Schuester asked, still smiling brightly. "Or if you like, you can just sit in today and see how you like it?"

"Mr Schuester," a voice came from across the room, before Ian could speak. Ian looked in the direction from which the voice had come and saw a short girl with straight, brown hair, wearing a maroon sweater with a bucking horse on the front. He grimaced, wondering what could have possessed a person to leave the house in something so hideous. "With all due respect, we are so close to sectionals. We _need_ singers! This is supposed to be audition day and I don't know if you've noticed, but there's not exactly a queue lined up outside the door."

"Were we supposed to queue up?" a blonde girl wearing a cheerios uniform asked from the back row. Everyone ignored her, so Ian only stared at her in confusion for a moment, before looking away.

The girl in the awful sweater was looking at Ian now.

"Ian Gallagher, I don't mean to sound pushy or make you feel pressurised, but we need you to audition today."

Ian gave her a nod.

"That's fine."

"Oh," the girl said, lowering herself back down in her seat. "Very well."

Mr Schuester clapped his hands together before giving Ian another wide smile.

"It doesn't even need to be a whole song, Ian," he said, gently. "Just.. show us what you can do!"

He took a seat and Ian laid his bag down at his feet, heart thumping far too quickly in his chest. He tried to push away the nerves and inhibitions, before opening his mouth to sing.

 _"I don't expect my love affairs to last for long,_

 _Never fool myself that my dreams will come true,_

 _Being used to trouble I anticipate it,_

 _But all the same I hate it, wouldn't you?"_

Ian briefly wondered why he had chosen this song. It didn't look as if anyone in the room had ever heard it before, except for sweater girl, who was lip syncing the words.

 _"So what happens now?_

 _So what happens now?_

 _Where am I going to?_

 _Where am I going to?"_

He realised that singing the song by himself meant leaving the entire title of the song out of the song and felt stupid for doing it. He closed his eyes as he continued, trying to block out the blank stares he was receiving.

 _"Time and time again I've said that I don't care,_

 _That I'm immune to gloom, that I'm hard through and through,_

 _But every time it matters all my words desert me,_

 _So anyone can hurt me, and they do."_

He sang the chorus again, the band playing along. He felt a bit more relaxed now that he was almost done. The final verse was next, so he gave it everything, suddenly aware of just how much he really wanted to be in glee. No one was laughing, that was a good sign. Maybe this would be okay.

 _"Call in three months time and I'll be fine, I know,_

 _Well maybe not that fine, but I'll survive anyhow,_

 _I won't recall the names and places of each sad occasion,_

 _But that's no consolation here and now."_

Ian sang the final chorus before the music faded away, his heart in his mouth. All eyes were on him. He stared into space avoiding making eye contact with anyone. Everyone began clapping then and Ian felt his face heating up. Mr Schuester stood up from his seat and gave Ian a pat on the back.

"Ian," he said with a smile. "Welcome to glee club!"

* * *

"Rachel Berry," the girl with the horse sweater said when Ian walked into the canteen at lunch time on Wednesday.

"Um," was all he said, distracted by the girl—Rachel's outfit; A pencil skirt, knee length socks, sensible brogues and another sweater, this time a bunny on the front. Ian shuddered.

"I'm the star of glee club," Rachel said, flicking her hair over her shoulder. "You're talented, but I'm talented, ambitious _and_ a star."

Ian gaped at her for a moment, wondering why she was flaunting her narcicissm in front of his face.

"You sang Evita for your audition."

Ian nodded.

"Eva Perón is one of my dream roles," she informed him, smiling. "Well, I just thought you should know. See you later."

She walked away, nose in the air. Ian stared after her, unable to shake the feeling that he had been threatened, indirectly.

"Pay no attention to that girl."

Ian spun around to see another girl from glee club standing there.

"Um, hi," Ian uttered.

"I'm Mercedes Jones," the girl said, smiling as she extended a hand to Ian. He took it and shook it gently. "Boy, you can sing!"

Ian allowed himself to smile a bit.

"Thank you."

"Rachel is just jealous. She thinks she's our star, but both you and I could sing her under the table given the chance. Hey, why don't you come sit with us?"

Ian hesitated, looking around, making sure it wasn't some kind of joke or set up. He saw Mickey across the room, at his table. He was looking in Ian's direction, his expression unreadable. Next to him was Puck. Ian turned back to Mercedes and gave her his best smile.

"I'd love to, thank you."

* * *

"So, the party on Sunday," Mickey said on Friday during English.

They were supposed to be working on their assignment, but since they had completed it already, they were just talking about nothing.

"Who even has a party on a Sunday?" Ian shook his head.

"Puckerman."

"Figures," Ian rolled his blue-green orbs.

"So, are you going to come?"

"No, I told you that already."

"Why?"

"Why do you want me to go so badly?"

Mickey looked taken aback. He looked as if he was going to insult him or threaten him, but instead, he sighed.

"I don't," he replied. "I told you. I think you need to get some friends."

"I have friends."

It was true. He had been hanging out with Mercedes and Rachel and the other members of the glee club; Tina, Brittany, Santana, Artie, Finn, Mike, Rory and Sam. He was getting on particularly well with Mercedes and even Rachel, even if neither he nor Rachel were prepared to admit it. Rachel was talented, too. She'd sung So Long Dearie from Hello Dolly! at the lunch table the day before. They were all really nice—even Rachel— and didn't treat him like an outcast. For once in his life, he felt accepted.

"Those glee losers?"

"Don't call them that, they're _nice_ ," Ian told Mickey.

Mickey snickered beside him.

"Berry and her animal sweaters? That kid in the wheelchair? Trouty mouth?" he said. " _They're_ what you call friends?"

Ian scowled, because Mickey was being incredibly rude and unfair.

"Well, they don't slushie me or shove me inside lockers, so yes, I would consider that an improvement to the only thing I had that came close to friendship before I met them."

He saw Mickey flinch. It was only a tiny movement, but it had happened and it satisfied Ian.

"Suit yourself, Gallagher," he said with a sigh.

"I will."

* * *

"HE STOLE MY DIARY!" Rachel ran into the cafeteria and screamed at the entire glee club population at the lunch table. She was soaking wet, her dark hair dripping.

Everyone started asking questions. Finn, Rachel's boyfriend, pulled her down onto a bench and told her to speak slowly. Of course, this was Rachel and speaking slowly was close to impossible for her.

"Noah Puckerman," she said, sounding as if she might cry. "He slushied me, then tore my diary from my little hands and took off down the hallway! What if he looks inside?"

Rachel buried her head in the crook of her boyfriend's neck and began to cry.

"This is bad," Mercedes said to Ian, quietly. "Like, really bad."

"It is?" Ian asked, wondering if Rachel had some kind of deep, dark secret hidden between the pages of her diary.

"Yes," she confirmed. "Puckerman is having a party this weekend. Chances are the footballers and cheerleaders are going to read her diary together at that."

Ian chewed his bottom lip. He looked over at Rachel, Finn rubbing small circles across her back as she sobbed into his neck, soaking his shirt. He glanced across to the popular table, at Puck flicking peas at Karofsky and laughing, at Karofsky scowling and flicking them back, at Mickey staring down at his tray, blankly.

The bell went and people began to move. Ian stood up and grabbed his bag.

"You ready?" Mercedes asked.

"I need to talk to Rachel for a minute," he said. "Come on."

He and Mercedes walked across to where Rachel stood. Finn gave her a quick kiss and walked away. She looked dejected, her hair sticky and hard.

"Hey, Rachel," Ian said, softly, feeling bad for the girl.

She turned to look at him, puppy dog eyes red rimmed and shining. She sniffled and wiped her tears.

"I think I can get your diary back for you."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5:**

"Ian , you are my hero," Rachel said, dramatically on the other end of the phone on Sunday afternoon. "Honestly, I can't thank you enough for this."

"It's okay," Ian told her falling back against the pillows on his bed.

It wasn't okay. He was as nervous as hell. He had spent the entire morning fidgeting and trying to concentrate on homework and housework, but he could not get his mind off the party.

"Ian , are you sure you want to do this?" Mercedes, who was over at Rachel's house, asked.

"Of course," Ian told her. "It's terrible that they would read someone's personal diary aloud for all to hear."

"But, why would they ask you?" Mercedes asked, sceptically. "And Mickey Milkovich, of all people. You don't think it's some kind of.. trap?"

Ian had already contemplated that, but every time someone was friendly to him, he automatically assumed they were setting him up. Sometimes, you just had to take that chance.

"It's nothing I can't handle," Ian said, hoping he sounded convincing.

Ian had never gone to a real party. The last party he had been at had been when he was 9 and some kid invited the entire class to his birthday party. There had been a clown and bouncy castle. This was going to be very different, he imagined, though with Iggy erman, who knew?

"Are you sure?" Mercedes said.

Ian took a deep breath and shut his eyes tight, that feeling of dread still swimming around in the pit of his stomach. He opened his eyes and exhaled, his shoulders dropping, then spoke.

"I'm sure."

* * *

"What's the heck is Gallagher doing here?" Karofsky growled next to Mickey.

Iggy erman's house was dark and filled with people. Loud music thumped in Mickey's ears, the room was warm and stuffy, people shouting and laughing and talking loudly. He turned to look in the direction that Karofsky was scowling and saw Ian lingering by the door. He was wearing a greyish vest, with a long sleeved, white shirt underneath. His pants were dark and tightly-fitted, but beyond that Mickey couldn't see much more.

"I invited him," he said, out loud.

Karofsky, Iggy and Azimio turned their shell-shocked gazes on him. Mickey shrugged, trying to play unhinged.

"I thought we could have a little fun with him later."

The guys nodded and laughed and Iggy high-fived him. He hoped they would forget about Ian later. Mickey planned on getting far too drunk to remind them, anyway. If he was sober, he felt as if he would have to remind them, because they would bring it up the following day. Mickey didn't care that it was a school night, he just needed to stop being aware of everything around him just for a little while.

He sipped a can of beer for the first hour or so, as he listened to his friends chatting away. His eyes kept searching through the crowds, past the colliding bodies and through the darkness, searching out that coiffed hair and pale, pale skin. Ian had disappeared out of Mickey's view for a long time. He wondered if he had gone home. Then he saw him.

Mickey extended his neck a little to see where Ian was heading and it turned out he was walking upstairs. Mickey watched a moment, then waved his half-full can at his friends, signalling that he was going to get another. He stood up, a little dizzy and crossed the room, people moving out of his way. He laid the can down on a small table and began climbing the stairs, taking small, cautious steps, because even Mickey Milkovich would get laughed at if he fell.

When he reached the top, he looked around. It was fairly empty, apart from a guy passed out by the bathroom door. Mickey turned the small corner and looked down the long hallway. Ian stood there, tugging on a door handle.

"It's locked," he told him.

Ian looked up quickly, blue eyes widening. His face relaxed when he saw it was just Mickey. Mickey walked towards him.

"That's Iggy 's parents' room. He locks it during parties," Mickey confirmed. Ian gave him a small nod. "What are you doing, anyway?"

"Iggy stole Rachel's diary," he explained. "I'm only here to get it back."

Mickey stared at him for a long time. He felt sort of hurt and he couldn't make out why.

"Is that the only reason you came?"

Ian paused, then nodded his head, quickly.

"Yes," he affirmed. "Do you know where it is? Rachel's diary?"

He was about to shrug, tell him it had nothing to do with him, ask him why he should help him, but he didn't. He sighed and turned around, gesturing for Ian to follow him. He lead him to Iggy erman's bedroom. He kept the key on top of the door frame. Mickey reached up onto his tippy toes and pulled the key down, before opening the door. He walked in, Ian following and closed the door behind them. Iggy 's dark, little room was a mess. Clothes were everywhere, shoes covering the floor, his bed unmade. Mickey saw Ian twist his face in disgust as he kicked a pair of boxers with the toe of his combat boot.

"It should be in here," Mickey said, tugging Iggy 's closet door open. Clothes weren't hanging up inside, but thrown on the floor, more shoes under them. "It might take you a while to find it, but this is where he keeps, like, everything."

Ian moved forward, eyes darting around, making sure he wasn't about to stand on something disgusting. Mickey eyed him for a moment. His pants were super tight. Mickey couldn't take his eyes off of them. They left very little to the imagination and Mickey couldn't understand how Ian managed to go through life in pants so tight. Surely it was uncomfortable, painful even.

He tore his gaze away, realising he was staring at Ian 's ass.

"Well, I'm going back downstairs," he declared. "You go on inside and find Berry's stupid diary. I'll contact you if Iggy or anyone comes upstairs."

"Thanks," Ian muttered, kicking a shoe this time.

Mickey watched him for another couple of heartbeats, his eyes going to those incredibly tight pants again. He shook his head and chuckled.

"How ironic that I'm sending you inside a closet," he said, before leaving the room.

He stood outside the door, simply breathing for what felt like a long time, then went back downstairs, taking the kitchen route to visit the refrigerator before joining his friends again.

Mickey was going to pump himself full of alcohol, because he just didn't need to be thinking about Ian , or his parents, or anything any more. Maybe it was a bad idea, what with how sickly he was feeling lately, but he disregarded that. Right now, he just didn't want to care.

* * *

"You're such an asshole! I can't believe you would do this!" Ian walked closer to the back door, so that he could get a better listen to what Quinn Fabray was yelling at Mickey. "How much did you even drink? I can't take you home with me now, you know! I can't bring an alcoholic into my house, my dad will freak! You're such an asshole, Mickey!"

Mickey was sighing, sounding more tired than mad.

"I'm not an alcoholic," he said, words slurring.

"You know what else?" Quinn went on. "Your dad is going to kill you when you go home in this state and you deserve it! I hope it hurts, Mickey, when he's beating you up, because _you deserve it!_ How could you do this to me?"

Ian widened his eyes. He wondered if that was Mickey's secret, that his dad was abusive. He pressed his back to the wall next to the door and listened carefully.

"You're no fun," Mickey told her.

"Maybe if you'd stayed fucking sober you would have seen just how fun I am when we got back to my house!"

Ian wrinkled his nose. That was an image he did not need.

"Quinn," Mickey said, tiredly. "Quinn, you suck!"

Ian felt the corners of his mouth tilting upwards as Quinn groaned in exasperation.

"You know what, Mickey?" she snapped. " _You suck_. I don't know what I'm doing with you. We've barely done a thing over the past few weeks and you've been acting really weird. Look at you! You're a mess!"

"Where are you going?" Ian heard Mickey sighing again.

"To find a real man, because clearly you're not capable of giving me what I deserve!"

Ian moved back into the corner and watched as Quinn stormed through the kitchen and walked back through the doorway to the living room. She was kind of scary when she was mad. She looked a bit psychotic. He waited a minute, then walked outside, to find Mickey sprawled on the grass with his back against the wall. The air was cool against his clammy skin and he felt relieved to be out of the crowds. He went closer and frowned at Mickey, who looked up and smiled, eyes half closed.

"Having fun?" he asked.

"A blast," Ian said, rolling his eyes. "She's right, you know. You sort of _are_ a mess." Ian smiled slightly.

Mickey shrugged a bit. The top button of his shirt was undone and his hair was a mess. His curls were coming astray and the gel wasn't helping any more.

"She doesn't understand me," he stuttered, eyes closing.

Ian frowned again, before extending a hand. Mickey eyed it and looked up at him questioningly through half-lidded eyes.

"I'm getting you out of here before you do something dumb," Ian explained. He shouldn't be helping Mickey Milkovich, the guy that made him dread going to school every day, but he saw something in Mickey that he didn't see in the others and he figured everyone deserved a chance. Part of him wanted to hate him, but he couldn't do it.

A moment later, Mickey allowed Ian to pull him to his feet. He slung one of Mickey's arms over his shoulder and gripped his other arm in his hands. Ian lead him back into the house. Iggy was standing by the refrigerator with his arms folded when they walked inside.

"What are you doing, Gallagher?" he asked, eyes wide, mouth hanging open.

"Taking him home," Ian told him. "He's out of his mind."

"Why are _you_ taking him home?"

"Because it looks as if I'm the only sober one here?" Ian made it a question.

"Oh," Iggy nodded. "Oh, yeah."

"Iggy , this is the best party ev-ever!" Mickey yelled at Iggy .

Iggy , who wasn't as drunk as Mickey, but still drunk nevertheless, smiled goofily and gave Mickey a weak high five. Ian rolled his eyes and tugged Mickey through the crowds in the living room, then out the front door. He bundled Mickey into the passenger seat of his car, clipped his seatbelt into place, then got in his own side. Mickey was humming something that Ian couldn't quite make out.

"Are we going to Narnia?"

Ian turned and looked at Mickey as if he had just grown three heads and a beak and ignored that. He turned away, shaking his head and started to drive. Mickey continued to hum something that probably wasn't even a real song, while Ian tried to come up with a plan. He didn't know what to do with Mickey. He didn't want to take him home because of what Quinn had said about his dad, but he couldn't just leave him on the side of the street.

"Mickey, is there anywhere you can go?"

"I can go to the moon," Mickey said, gazing out the window and up at the opalescent moon high in the sky. His eyes were wide and filled with wonderment, the moon light reflected in them.

Ian raised an eyebrow and decided not to ask any more questions. Clearly, alcohol caused Mickey's mind to become occupied by a five year old girl. He wondered briefly what he had gotten himself into and questioned himself as to why he was helping him out. But Ian couldn't just leave him there, he just couldn't. He would feel guilty about it later. There was only one place Ian could think of that he could take Mickey.

Mickey was humming and Ian was driving and every now and then Mickey would say something senseless and Ian would agree, whilst stifling his laughter. Finally, Ian stopped the car.

"Wh-where are we?" Mickey asked, sounding a bit dazed.

"My house."

* * *

By the time Ian had dragged Mickey into his room, which was situated in the basement, Mickey was more in a state of passing out than giddy enthusiasm. Ian threw him down on his bed, feeling awkward, because he was not going to share a bed with another guy tonight, especially not Mickey Milkovich. Ian decided he would make a bed up on the small couch for himself, because Mickey had already curled himself into the pillows on his bed. He crossed the room and opened his closet, pulled a blanket and extra pillow out, then went towards the couch. He laid the blanket down and then the pillow, before pulling Rachel's small diary from the inside pocket of his vest and laying it down on his desk.

"Ian ."

Ian swung around to find Mickey sitting up on his bed, eyes opened and searching the room.

"Mickey, go to sleep."

"My head hurts," he groaned.

Ian sighed and went into the bathroom. He came back out, holding a glass of water and some paracetamol. He went and sat down next to Mickey. He handed him the glass and then the pills.

"Take these."

Mickey asked no questions, simply threw the pills into his open mouth, then swallowed them down with the water. Ian stood up and took the glass from him, because he looked as if he might drop it, then walked across the room and laid it down on his desk.

"How do you walk?"

"What?" Ian asked, as he walked back to sit down.

"In those pants," Mickey said, gaze dropping to Ian 's legs.

Ian blushed and quickly moved to take a seat on the edge of his bed.

"Used to it," he shrugged.

"But they're s-so _tight_ ," he said. "Your legs must be screaming!"

Ian smiled at that.

"Well, I bet your hair spends most of its time screaming," Ian teased. "You wear _a lot_ of gel."

"I don't like my curls," Mickey pouted, sounding like a toddler.

"I like your curls better than the slick gel-do," Ian smiled, softly, counting his blessings that Mickey probably wouldn't remember this conversation come morning.

"When I pinch them," Mickey said, leaning across and attempting to pinch the material of Ian 's jeans near his knee. Ian jerked back a little bit at Mickey's touch. "It's like pinching air. _They're so tight!_ "

"Right," Ian said, standing up. "I'll be right back, I'm gonna change."

"Out of the tight pants?"

"Out of the tight pants," he affirmed. "Do you want to change?"

"No," Mickey said, lying back and curling himself into a fetal position.

Ian rolled his eyes and went to his closet. He pulled out some pyjama pants and a t-shirt, then went into the bathroom. He changed, then went back into his room. When he walked out, Mickey was sitting with his legs crossed on Ian 's bed, reading something.

"Is that Rachel's diary?" Ian exclaimed, rushing forward to get a closer look.

"Rachel Berry's not a good girl," Mickey said, in a sing-song voice.

Ian resisted the urge to lean over Mickey's shoulder and read what apparently made her not a 'good girl'. Instead, he snatched the small book from Mickey's hands and closed it.

"Read it, read it, read it!" Mickey grinned, clapping his hands, like a trained seal.

Ian rolled his eyes and sighed.

"This," he held up the diary in the air. "Is Rachel's private property. It is completely wrong that either of us read this!"

"She's having sex with Finn Hudson, though," Mickey said, the bridge of his nose crinkling. Ian widened his eyes, then stopped himself, because he wasn't about to gossip with Mickey Milkovich about his friend. "Who would have sex with Finn Hudson?"

"He's her _boyfriend_ ," Ian provided, standing up and slipping the diary into his drawer, out of Mickey's reach.

"But _Finn Hudson_ ," Mickey wrinkled his nose. "Finn Hudson used to be on the football team, then he joined glee club and turned gay."

"He's dating Rachel, Mickey, he's not gay," Ian rolled his eyes. "And joining glee club doesn't turn you gay."

"You're gay," Mickey pointed out.

"I was gay before I joined glee club," Ian told him. He found himself asking what he'd gotten himself into not for the first time that day.

He walked to his dresser and sat down and began his daily skin care regimen.

"What are you doing?" Mickey asked, scooting over so that his legs hung over the edge of the bed. Ian eyed him through the mirror.

"Moisturising," he apprised him.

" _Why?_ "

"Because I don't want pores," he explained. "And it makes your skin softer."

"It does?"

Ian nodded and wished Mickey would go to sleep, so that the night could just end and they could go back to their strained friendship, consisting of hating each other and then sort of liking each other, tomorrow.

Mickey stood up and fell over his own feet. He reached out and clutched Ian 's dresser to stop himself from falling flat on his face. Ian smiled and watched as Mickey pulled himself to his feet.

"What are you doing?" Ian asked Mickey, who was now staring down at him, smiling like an idiot.

"C-can you make my skin soft and not have pores?"

Ian raised a thin brow and studied Mickey, trying to make out just what this boy was all about. Didn't they say that drunkenness brought out the truth? Was this the true Mickey? A soppy, childish, adorable—

 _Adorable?_

He shook his head and pretended he hadn't just thought that.

"Fine," Ian stood up and pushed Mickey down into the chair by the shoulders. Mickey was grinning, his eyes half-lidded.

Ian squeezed some of the cream into the palm of his hand and took some on his fingers. He used the side of his hand, the one that had the pool of cream in it, to push Mickey's curls back from his forehead. With the other hand, he placed small blobs of moisturiser onto various areas of Mickey's face. He then began to massage them in. Mickey's skin was already ridiculously smooth. Mickey had to have his own skin care regimen, there was no way that was natural.

Mickey's smile had faded. He was watching Ian with an almost intense gaze, his lips together, eyes narrowed slightly. Ian felt heat spreading up the back of his neck as he continued to smear the cream across Mickey's skin, those golden syrup eyes watching him intently. He felt his pulse speeding up when his fingers went closer to Mickey's lips. He felt Mickey's breath warm and slow against his skin, lingering there, then the cool air was sweeping back in and ridding it of the warmth.

When Ian had finished, he pulled away, slowly, then wiped his hands with a piece of tissue paper. Mickey's hazel eyes never left his face. Ian felt uneasy because this was Mickey Milkovich and he wasn't supposed to be feeling uneasy around Mickey Milkovich for _those_ reasons.

"Um," Ian shook his head and turned away from Mickey. "It's late and a school night, we should go to bed."

Mickey stood up then and almost fell again. Ian moved forward and caught Mickey's arms before he could hit the floor. Mickey looked up at him and Ian could only stare back. Mickey's arms were well-built, Ian realised. He was a jock, after all, but Ian hadn't expected this, because Mickey was so _small_. But he could feel the flex of his bicep, the muscles tight and strong against his finger tips. This was not good.

He walked Mickey over to the bed and set him down on it, then began to turn away to go to the made-up bed on the couch, but Mickey reached out and caught his arm.

"Ian ," he said in an almost whisper.

Ian swallowed hard at the sound of his name coming from Mickey's lips in that hushed tone. He felt that familiar clenching and unclenching in the pit of his stomach, as he felt himself go semi-hard. Why in the name of all that was holy was he getting hard because of Mickey Milkovich? Sure, he was pretty cute, but Mickey was a jerk most of the time and Ian didn't like him, not like that, anyway. He gave Mickey a questioning look. Mickey simply pulled him down to sit next to him. Ian crossed his legs, hoping to conceal what had to be a very prominent bulge. He didn't dare look down.

"Ian , are you drunk?"

"No," he told him.

"Why not?"

"I don't like alcohol," he shrugged.

"But don't you like the feeling of getting away from everything? Just for a little while? Don't you just want everything to fuck off just for a little while?"

Ian smiled, sadly. Mickey was drinking to forget—or to escape, he guessed.

"It'll all still be there when you sober up," he said, matter-of-factly.

"But just for a little while, it's gone, all of it, just—gone," Mickey said, dreamily. "You just get to be whoever you want to be and you don't have to care!"

"That's nice, Mickey," Ian smiled and tried to stand up, but Mickey clutched his arm again and pushed him back into a seated position.

"Don't you think it would be nice not to care, Ian ?" he asked, a little breathlessly. "Even if it doesn't last forever, don't you want to just let loose for a bit? To just do whatever the fuck you want?"

Ian chuckled, because Mickey looked ecstatically happy at that moment, happier than he had ever seen him and it was still a nice thing to see a good-looking boy smiling. Mickey inched closer and grinned into Ian 's face, his golden brown eyes canopied by the thick sweep of his long, full lashes.

"Do you know what you should do, Ian ?" Mickey asked.

"What?" he asked, a little breathlessly, feeling heat climbing up the back of his neck. Mickey was far too close.

Mickey's breath was warm on his skin again and Ian really needed to stand up or he was going to end up coming in his pants, in front of and _because of_ Mickey Milkovich, thus becoming completely humiliated. But he couldn't move, not while Mickey's bright eyes were looking at him like that and not while his rose-coloured lips were so pretty in the light of the moon slipping through the blinds.

"You should kiss me until you're drunk."

Ian froze. _Had Mickey really just said that?_

"I should do wha—"

"Come on, Ian ," Mickey breathed against Ian 's lips, his big eyes flicking back and forth between Ian 's lips and eyes. "Get drunk on my kisses. Take some of my drunk. Kiss me and get drunk and just—just forget the world and stuff."

Ian couldn't think. Everything was happening far too quickly. Mickey's hot gaze was not helping matters either. He tried to breathe, tried to think, but Mickey's lips were coming closer now and he shouldn't have wanted to do this, but he did.

"Kiss me until you're drunk," Mickey repeated, in the softest, slowest whisper Ian had ever encountered and then Mickey's lips were pressing down over his own and he lost all control and ability to think sensibly, because all that meant anything was Mickey kissing him like he needed him, like he _wanted_ him and sometimes, all Ian craved was for someone to want him.

* * *

Mickey was hovering over him now, his kisses more hungry, not as cautious and controlled as the first had been. They were sloppy, too, because Mickey was so drunk. His lips and tongue tasted like alcohol, that strong, bitter, tangy taste that Ian disliked so much. But Mickey's mouth against his own wasn't unpleasant in the least. Nor were Mickey's fingers tracing lines along the hollows of his hip bones.

Ian gasped against Mickey's lips when cold fingers slipped beneath his shirt and touched his bare skin. He could feel Mickey's heart beat against his chest, thumping just as hard and as fast as his own. As if on instinct, Ian raised his hands to entwine his fingers in Mickey's damp curls, wanting more from him, wanting him to keep on kissing him, even though he knew it was something he most definitely should not want. Ian started to wonder if maybe his Coke had been spiked at the party. Mickey had told him to kiss him until he was drunk. He certainly _felt_ drunk and his actions certainly complied with the idea of being spiked.

He felt Mickey shift above him and then his hips were lowering to meet Ian 's. Ian went still when he felt Mickey's hard on through his jeans, pressing against his thigh. He hoped to God Mickey couldn't feel his erection, though he probably could. He was so close and Ian was so hard and all he wanted to do was tear his pants away and relieve himself.

Ian told himself to push Mickey away, to tell him that they shouldn't— _couldn't_ — do it and he almost did tell him that, but then Mickey's fingers skirted lower and his other hand was toying with the waistband of Ian 's pants and he lost it, lost the ability to think properly, his mind clouded, his body full of need and want and so many other things he couldn't put a name to with Mickey's mouth trailing along his jaw and then lingering by his ear like that.

"Want you," he hissed and Ian shivered.

He couldn't deny the fact that he wanted Mickey, too, because Mickey was doing things to him, things that he couldn't explain, things he had never felt before. He gave in, then. He couldn't fight, he wanted this and it seemed as if Mickey did, too. Mickey was incredibly drunk and straight and had a girlfriend, but Ian didn't care, he would deal with all that tomorrow. Right now, Mickey's hands were pushing his pants lower and his lips were trailing along his neck and he was making small humming sounds and beyond that, Ian didn't know anything else, nor did he care about anything else.

He opened his eyes and the cool air hit his legs and suddenly his pants were gone. He glanced down and saw that Mickey's shirt was gone. How had he done that without him having noticed? Ian pondered this for a short time, then Mickey was pushing his t-shirt up along his stomach and baring his chest and Ian forgot about that. Ian raised his arms and Mickey tugged the t-shirt off and threw it to the side. Ian groaned as Mickey dropped down and pressed his mouth to his chest, his lips travelling aimlessly along his rib cage and up over his nipples, sending small thrills along Ian 's skin and shivers down his spine.

Ian 's fingers found their way back into Mickey's curls, tugging them gently. He threw his head back when Mickey began to move lower, his fingers hooking themselves into the waistband of Ian 's boxers. Ian 's heart was beating manically in his chest, his head dizzy. He raised his hips to give Mickey room to tug them down. In one swift movement, Ian was entirely naked, the cool air caressing his skin.

Ian had only ever been with one other guy like this and even at that, no one had ever seen him completely naked until now. He felt a little embarrassed when Mickey sat back on his knees to look down at him. He only stared for a couple of seconds, before moving to kneel between Ian 's knees. He placed a hand on either side of Ian 's legs. He pushed them up, bending his knees, then pushed them apart.

Mickey took his cock in his hand, carefully, fingers brushing over the head and then almost painfully, slowly along the shaft. And then his mouth had replaced his hand and Ian lost it. His fingers clasped onto the sheets beneath him, his legs twisted and Mickey had to grab onto his ankles to keep him still. Loud moans escaped his throat, his chest rising and falling quickly, his lungs gasping for air. He remembered that his dad was home, then and would not be happy if he walked in and saw what was going down. He reached around and grabbed a pillow and pressed it to his mouth, stifling a groan. It didn't help that Mickey was humming a little as he sucked up and down on his cock.

Ian felt himself nearing the edge, his stomach tightening a bit. He bucked his hips a little and Mickey moved back slightly. Ian groaned at the loss of Mickey's heat, but then he moved forward again, taking him back inside his mouth and Ian flung his head back as the orgasm hit. He screamed into the pillow as he came, shooting come into Mickey's mouth. Mickey didn't flinch, simply continued to suck as Ian pushed his hips forward to meet Mickey's mouth, riding out the orgasm, until he couldn't move any longer.

He collapsed down on the bed and Mickey pulled his mouth off of Ian 's softening cock. He fell down, cheek resting against Ian 's abdomen, breathing hard, his breath warm on Ian 's stomach.

They stayed like that for far too long, Ian trying to process what had just happened and failing, because Mickey had possibly fallen asleep like that. Ian forced himself up and eased himself out from beneath Mickey. He was too tired to get up and he didn't think his legs would carry him anyway, so he pushed back the covers of his bed and climbed in. Minutes later, just as he was dozing off to sleep, he felt a weight lifting from the bed and then the sound of a zipper. He forced his eyes open just as Mickey pushed his own jeans off. Mickey wasn't hard any more, but he hadn't remembered him coming. Except, apparently, he had. Ian stared at Mickey's cock for a moment. It was hard to see it properly in the dim light of his lamp. Ian watched as Mickey peeled his underwear off and then wiped himself with them, before throwing them to the ground. He then walked across the room and flicked the switch on the lamp, leaving them in darkness, only the light of the moon slipping through the blinds providing any light.

Ian closed his eyes when Mickey crossed the room and climbed into the bed next to him. He opened them again when he felt Mickey's arms snaking around his waist, his head resting on his shoulder. He closed them again when he felt Mickey's heart beating evenly against his back, small snoring sounds escaping his lips, giving him comfort. Then he fell asleep.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6:**

Mickey opened his eyes and the first thing he realised was that he was hard. The second thing he realised was that there was someone in bed next to him and before he knew what he was doing he was pushing himself on top of that person and plunging his tongue past their lips. Blue eyes met his own and he deepened the kiss, his cock growing harder, then reached down and grabbed the hand that was curling around his hip. He moved it until it rested against his erection, fingers curling to encompass it.

"God, Ian."

 _Ian_.

He sprang back, almost falling over the side of the bed, his fingers gripping the bed clothes to keep himself upright. He stared at Ian in horror, his heart thumping wildly against his ribs. It hit him then what had happened the previous night.

 _He'd given Ian a blow job._

He began to mutter obscenities under his breath. Ian watched him, a look of concern on his face. It was a long time before he spoke.

"Mickey ," he said, softly. "Mickey , relax. Lie back down, you're going to give yourself a heart attack."

Mickey lay back down, because laying back down sounded good. His head was spinning and all he wanted to do was lie back down and close his eyes. He felt as if he couldn't breathe properly and he didn't dare speak, because he was afraid of what he might say. But he was still hard and it wasn't going away any time soon and he needed to solve it, or he might possibly cry, because everything was so wrong and he shouldn't want what he wanted.

"Mickey ," Ian said, looking down at them with those bright, cyan eyes. "It's okay to want things."

And then Ian was reaching down and curling his fingers back around Mickey 's cock, his eyes never leaving Mickey 's face and Mickey simply could not push him away.

"Please," he whispered so quietly, that he wasn't sure Ian had heard him.

Only he had, because he began thrusting his hand up and down over Mickey 's cock, pre-come spilling from the tip, making Ian's strokes easier and faster. Mickey was moaning quietly, his breaths coming faster with Ian's movements. It wasn't long before Mickey was coming, white streaks hitting his chest and Ian's arm. Ian continued to pump on it until Mickey was done, then he let him go and reached down onto the ground. He sat back up and wiped his t-shirt across Mickey 's chest, then along his own arm.

Mickey lay there staring at the ceiling, the realisation of everything suddenly hitting him. His mind couldn't handle everything. There was no real explanation for everything. Sure, he'd been drunk the night before, but that didn't make any excuses for what had just happened. It certainly made no excuses for why he had wanted it to happen, nor did it make any excuses for why he could not take his eyes off of Ian's bare chest. He wanted to scream. He opened his mouth, but it never came.

"This isn't happening," he whispered to the ceiling.

"I'd love to tell you that it didn't happen," Ian told him. "But it did."

"Not helping."

"Sorry."

He shut his eyes tight and promised a million and one things if God, or whoever was up there, would just make everything that had happened in the past 24 hours go away. Nothing went away.

"I won't tell a soul," Ian told him, after a while.

Mickey twisted his neck to look up at him.

"Y—you won't?" he asked, in an almost whisper.

"No," Ian shook his head.

"Why would you do that?" he asked. He should have just taken it and been thankful, but something inside him had to know. "You could destroy me. I've treated you like crap. Why wouldn't you take that opportunity?"

Ian tilted his head and studied Mickey for a few heart beats. Mickey frowned because he didn't know what else to do.

"I could destroy you, that's true," he began and Mickey 's heart sank a little. "But, I don't believe in outing, no matter what the circumstances."

"I'm not gay."

Ian didn't look at all convinced. To be fair, he had good reason.

"Maybe," he said. "But you're obviously going through some things you need to work out and even though you're an asshole most of the time, I think you're a good guy underneath all that. So, no, I'm not going to tell anyone what happened."

Mickey felt relief sweeping into his body, but the entire weight had not been lifted.

"Thanks," he managed to choke out.

"No problem," Ian shrugged. "So, do you want to go, um, shower? I need to tell my dad you're here—"

"But you said—"

"I said I need to tell him you're _here_. I don't plan on telling him what happened during your stay."

"Oh," Mickey said, feeling stupid. He was so paranoid right now. His entire body was shaking and that feeling was still in the pit of his stomach, swirling around and making him want to vomit, just to get rid of it. But he knew it wouldn't go away. He took his bottom lip between his teeth and bit down, pushing away the tears that were welling up in his eyes, a lump forming in his throat.

Ian stood up then and Mickey tried to avert his eyes from his naked body, but he couldn't resist a glance.

"Oh, no."

Ian raised an eyebrow at him.

"What?"

Mickey buried his head in his hands.

"Go look in a mirror."

He stayed like that for a few seconds, until he heard Ian make a small gasping sound.

"Did I..?" Mickey trailed off then, because it was a ridiculous question.

"Well, yeah," Ian said, studying the purplish bruise on the side of his neck. "I didn't have a heavy make out session before I bumped into you last night, you know."

Mickey flinched at that. He still couldn't process entirely the fact that he had done what he had done with Ian. And now there was evidence in the form of a hickey on Ian's pale skin. He would be reminded of it every time he looked at him for the next while.

"It'll be okay," Ian said, swinging around and opening his closet. He dug around inside and pulled out pants and a shirt. Mickey watched in a daze as he tugged them on. It was pointless to look away now, he supposed. Finally, Ian grabbed a scarf and draped it around his neck, covering the mark. He turned to look at Mickey .

"See?" he smiled, brightly. Mickey dropped his gaze. "Can't even notice it!"

Mickey gave a small nod. Ian stared at him for a while. He could feel the ice blue gaze on him and he didn't dare look up, not into those eyes.

"Well," Ian said, after a while. "You can borrow some underwear if you want."

"I've got my ow— _oh_. Right," Mickey felt his face flushing. "Um, thanks."

Ian gave him a smile, then.

"I'll be right back."

The second Ian left the room, Mickey went into extreme panic mode.

* * *

"Hey, kiddo," Frank said when Ian walked into the kitchen moments later. "How was the party?"

Frank was buttering toast at the kitchen table. Ian took a seat next to him.

"Uh, okay," Ian lied. "Dad, a friend of mine—well, not really a friend, I'm just partnered with him for English and we don't even really like each other that much—"

"Ian."

"What?"

"Spit it out."

Frank had stopped spreading the butter across the toast and was staring at Ian like he was crazy.

"Oh," he paused a minute, to gather his thoughts, then went on. "So, this kid, Mickey , he got crazy drunk and I sort of had to.. take him home with me. Because I was the only one not drinking, so I was the only one that could drive—"

"So, you had to take this—this _friend_ home with you? To sleep in your room?" Frank asked, giving Ian an accusative glare. He had laid the toast and knife down completely now.

Ian shook his head. If his dad really knew what had happened.. well, Ian didn't know what he would do, but Mickey wouldn't have gotten off without one hell of a verbal grilling and Ian didn't want to go there.

"Dad," he stated, trying to remain calm, but it was hard to stay calm when he thought about everything that had occurred.. "He's not even a friend, okay? He's just an acquaintance, but I had to. I didn't know what else to do."

"You couldn't take him home?"

"I overheard his girlfriend shouting at him," Ian explained. "She said that if he went home in that state, his dad would beat him up. I'm not sure how serious she was, but I wasn't sure I should take that chance."

"His girlfriend?"

Ian nodded and he saw Frank's face soften a little.

"Quinn," Ian clarified.

"So, you're just friends with this—this.."

"Mickey ," Ian nodded. "And yeah, sort of. Friends might be pushing it. He's sort of an ass."

Frank chuckled, then and retrieved the knife and toast.

"Alright, thanks for telling me," he said, giving Ian a pat on the shoulder. "Now go get your ass of a friend and eat some breakfast. I need to leave soon."

"Okay, dad."

* * *

"I'm not meeting your dad, Gallagher," Mickey shook his head, adamantly. "I don't care if it's part of the terms to keep you quiet, I won't do it."

He'd finished showering and changing and was sitting on the edge of Ian's bed examining his room. It was very... _stylish_ , Mickey guessed. It looked like something out of one of those interior design magazines his mom had lying around. Everything seemed to match and compliment one another. He conceded that Ian was probably the most stereotypical gay alive.

"You're an asshole, Mickey ," Ian told him, folding his arms and frowning at him. "He just wants to know who spent the night in his son's room, that's all. It's nothing formal."

Mickey shook his head again. He was playing it down, but he felt like screaming. He couldn't understand what had happened, or why it had happened, or why he had wanted it to happen. He just didn't know any more.

"Still not doing it."

"He'll come down here, you know," Ian said.

Mickey scowled at Ian, who simply raised a thin eyebrow. Mickey sighed. He didn't want to see Ian's father in the room that they'd.. done what they had done. He felt as if he might be able to sense it if he came in.

"God, _fine_ ," he groaned, hoping he was appearing as normal as humanly possible. "I'll have breakfast with the Gallaghers, will that satisfy you?"

Ian smirked, then and Mickey blushed.

"I have a condition."

"I'm not sure you're at liberty to make conditions, Mickey ," Ian said, with a smile.

Mickey tried to protest, but Ian shook his head.

"I was kidding, I said I wouldn't tell anyone and I won't, okay?" he assured him. "Now tell me you're condition so my dad can leave for work and we can leave for school."

Mickey thought for a moment. The condition was that they never talk about what had happened ever again, but he wondered if that was a wise thing to ask. Maybe he would need to talk about it. Maybe he would want to some day. Mickey shook his head.

"Never mind," he said, sounding defeated. "Let's go."

* * *

"So, Mickey ," Frank said once they were all at the kitchen table. Ian was nibbling on fruit, while Mickey munched on Corn Flakes. "Ian tells me you're workin' on some kinda project together."

"It's an assignment, dad," Ian told him.

"Right, an assignment. How's that goin'?" Frank was looking questioningly at Mickey . Ian was rolling his eyes across the table. He peeled a banana and began eating it. Mickey 's mind began to wander. Did everyone look like that while eating a banana? Were bananas just really awkward fruits that made everyone look seductive while eating one? Mickey swallowed and looked down into his cereal. It had to be the after effects of the alcohol, it just _had_ to be.

"Um, it's going good," he said, then cleared his throat. "We're ahead of schedule."

It was easily the most awkward moment Mickey had ever endured in all his 17 years of living. His first meeting with Quinn's parents hadn't been this awkward and that had been pretty awkward.

"That's good," Frank nodded. "What's this, uh, project on?"

" _Assignment_ , dad," Ian exhaled. Mickey glanced up, just as Ian took another bite and suddenly his head was filled with images of Ian's mouth _doing things_ to him. This was bad. "And it's on 'Jane Eyre'."

Mickey felt the panic returning. It hadn't really left, but it had been laying dormant while he dealt with the awkwardness of meeting Ian's dad. Now, it was back with full force. His stomach and head and muscles ached and he felt sick to his stomach. He laid the spoon down, because if he ate another bite, he was going to have a repeat of the library incident in Ian's kitchen.

Frank nodded and adjusted his cap, looking as if he knew absolutely nothing about it. That was okay, that meant he wouldn't ask any more questions.

"Well, I'd love to stay and chat, but I've gotta get to the garage," Frank stood up and held a hand out to Mickey . "Nice meetin' you, Mickey ."

Mickey shook his hand.

"You, too, Mr Gallagher," he said, forcing a smile. Frank Gallagher was a nice guy, Mickey just wished they had met under different circumstances.

Frank crossed the room and gave Ian a pat on the shoulder.

"Seeya later, kid."

"Bye, dad," Ian said and Frank left the house. "We should go," Ian said, a minute later. He laid the banana peel down on the table and stood up. Mickey stood up, too.

"Yeah," was all he said in response.

"I'll take you home so you can arrive at school in your own car," Ian informed him. "And your own underpants."

Mickey stood still gaping after Ian for a minute, then followed him outside. He got the feeling that Ian would never, ever let him forget.

* * *

Ian pulled up outside the school, still thinking about what had happened with Mickey . He had pretended like it meant nothing, that he could sit back and joke about it, but he couldn't understand why or how or what had even really happened. And what he really had trouble comprehending, was why he couldn't stop thinking about Mickey , why he had _liked it_ and why he had still wanted to lean across the kitchen table and kiss him senseless.

He didn't know why he'd given Mickey a handjob that morning, either. He hadn't meant to, but Mickey had whispered his name so quietly and with so much ardent need that something clicked inside of Ian and he had to do it. He wanted to hear Mickey making those small needy sounds because of what _he_ was doing to him. It was stupid, really and Ian couldn't explain it, but that was just how things were.

Ian had seen the panic on Mickey 's face. He'd tried to hide it, but Ian could see it and he knew he was questioning everything he was. Ian was questioning it, too. Mickey Anderson wasn't as straight as he had initially believed, even if he was going to continue telling other people and himself, that he was.

Ian grabbed his bag from the back seat and reached for the handle of the door. Just as he began pulling the handle towards him, his phone omitted a bleeping sound: His message tone. He reached inside his pocket, fearful that his father had taken ill again and looked down at the screen. Relief soared through his body when he saw who it was from.

 **1 NEW MESSAGE FROM: Mickey .**

Ian clicked the button in the centre and the screen loaded to reveal the message.

 _Use the back door._

Ian stared at the text for a good two minutes, then replied.

 _Why?_

He wondered if it was a trap, if Mickey was getting him back for everything that had happened. Then another text came through.

 _Trust me?_

Trust him? Ian didn't trust him. He treated him like crap just so that his friends still believed he was the tough, popular jock. No, Ian did not trust him one little bit. This was obviously a trap. He would take the front door.

He started to open his car door again when his phone made another beeping sound. He opened the text.

 _Maybe 'trust me' was a bad choice of words, but I just got a text and I sort of owe you for promising not to tell anyone about what happened. So, just take the back door, okay?_

Ian eyed the message for a few heart beats. It had probably taken a lot for Mickey to admit he owed him. Maybe he was telling the truth. Maybe he should take the back entrance.

Ian shoved the phone into his pocket and climbed out of his car. He locked it, then went around the side of the school, heading for the back door.

Once inside, Ian walked down the halls and stopped a little away from the front doors and sure enough, there they were. Karofsky, Azimio, Iggyerman and three other footballers were standing there grinning, red cups in their hands. Mickey had been telling the truth. Of course, he had realised this the second he stepped through the back doors of McKinley High, but seeing them there, looking all menacing sort of put everything into perspective. Mickey had warned him, which only caused Ian's belief that Mickey wasn't all bad to grow. Maybe he'd done it to protect himself, but even still. This was definitely progress.

* * *

"Ian, I can't thank you enough!" Rachel told him at lunch, a broad smile on her face. "Just for this, I'll allow you to sing first at glee club tomorrow!"

Ian raised an eyebrow. Rachel was probably the most annoying human being ever to have graced the planet, but she was okay, really. Just as long as you didn't have to listen to her for too long.

"So, what was it like?" Mercedes asked. "Did anyone ask what you were doing there?"

"No, surprisingly," Ian said. It had been a surprise, actually. He wondered why no one had demanded he leave. "But it was boring, really. Mostly jocks getting drunk and people dancing badly."

He wasn't lying, either. He didn't see the appeal of these ridiculous parties. Maybe it was because he didn't drink. Regardless, he'd been more bored than he ever remembered being.

"I like those parties," Brittany said, from across the table. "One time, Santana and I got locked in a closet and—"

"Okay!" Santana said, cutting her off. "No one needs to hear about that."

Everyone was busy gaping at the two cheerleaders, Santana's face flushing, Brittany staring blankly at her lunch, when Ian felt his scarf being tugged from his throat. He swung around quickly and made a grab for it, but Iggy held it high in the air.

"Well, well, well, what do we have here?" he sneered. "Did Gallagher get himself a boyfriend?"

Ian stood up and pressed the palm of his hand over the purplish bruise on his neck. He tried to snatch the scarf back with his other hand, but Iggy just laughed and held it away from him.

"So, who was it, Gallagher?" Iggy asked and Ian's eyes found Mickey across the room. He was looking at him, his eyes filled with worry, a small crease across his forehead. Ian tried to give him an expression, assuring him that he wouldn't tell, but he didn't think it made much of an impact. "Was it—"

"Back off, Iggyerman," Ian heard from behind. He turned around to see Finn Hudson standing up. Finn was the tallest guy Ian knew and he looked pretty strong, too.

"Or what?" Iggy spat.

"Or I'll tell Beiste about those little packages you buy from Sandy Ryerson and then she won't play you any more."

That seemed to change Iggy's manner. He let go of the scarf and it fell to the ground. Ian reached down and grabbed it and wrapped it back around his neck, his cheeks a bright red. Iggy scowled at Finn before stalking off. Ian sat back down.

"Thanks, Finn," he said, watching Finn sitting back down, too.

"No problem," he shrugged. "Iggyerman's an asshole."

Ian nodded.

"So, are you going to tell us who's been sucking on your neck?" Mercedes grinned next to him.

It was going to be a long day.

* * *

"So," Iggy said, later that day at Mickey 's locker. "It looks like Gallagher found himself a boyfriend after he dropped you off last night."

Mickey glanced at Iggy as he dug in his locker. Iggy didn't look as if he knew anything, thank God. Mickey mumbled something that he hoped sounded like a yes and continued to rummage around.

"I called your house last night," Karofsky said, next to Iggy. Mickey 's heart sank. "Me and Azimio were gonna go start a bonfire and we were seeing if you wanted to come. Your mom said you weren't there. Where'd you go?"

Mickey 's eyes widened and he thought hard, trying to come up with anything that would get him out of this stupid mess. He felt so sick he just wanted to lay down and sleep for a long, long time.

"I stayed at Quinn's," he said, finally, heart thumping manically in his chest.

"Really?" Iggy asked, looking confused.

"Yeah," Mickey shrugged. "Why?"

Iggy knew, he had to know. But how could he know?

"No reason," he said. "Hey, there's Gallagher."

Mickey turned his attention back to his locker, as Iggy and Karofsky turned to look at Ian across the hallway.

"We should go ask him about his new boyfriend," Iggy grinned, eyes flashing. "It's the polite thing to do, after all."

Maybe he didn't know after all. He didn't sound as if he knew. Maybe he was just wondering why Mickey had left without Quinn. That had to be it.

"Yeah, we should," Mickey said, forcing a grin, hoping it would push any thoughts that might be in Iggy's head regarding him and Ian away. He was probably just paranoid, but it couldn't hurt to make sure.

Minutes later, Iggy, Mickey and Karofsky were circled around Ian, smiling at him. The corners of Mickey 's mouth were tilted upwards, but not by much. Ian looked distressed and tired. Mickey looked away.

"So, Gallagher," Iggy said, hand reaching for the scarf again. Mickey had the urge to reach across and push him away, but he couldn't. He was stuck to the floor, unable to move. Iggy slid the scarf away from Ian's neck before he could grab it back. "Who's the lucky guy?"

"Fuck you, Iggyerman," Ian spat and Mickey wished he wouldn't talk back and make things worse.

"Shut up, Gallagher!" Karofsky said, punching the locker next to Ian. Ian jumped a little and so did Mickey . He was so on edge today. He felt really sick and every little thing set his pulse racing.

"You shouldn't go round showing these things off, you know," Iggy told Ian. "We don't need to know you had some guy's dick up your ass last night, Gallagher."

Mickey flinched then, because what if it had come to that? What if things had escalated and he and Ian had.. He shook his head. That didn't bear thinking about.

"I think," Iggy went on, dropping Ian's scarf to the ground and stepping on it. "That we need to teach you a lesson."

"Look, I wore the scarf so no one would see," Ian explained, looking more than a little alarmed. "You dragged it off—"

"I said," Karofsky growled. " _Shut up._ "

"What do you think we should do with him?" Iggy said, looking thoughtful. "We could put him under a slushie machine and turn it on. Or we could lock him inside a locker."

Karofsky hooted and began tugging a locker opened. Mickey 's stomach churned. This was a bad time for him to feel like vomiting.

"Or," Iggy said, drawing out the 'r' sound. "We could take him inside the bathroom and give him a nice swirly."

Karofsky was grinning like an animal now and Ian just looked terrified, his blue eyes wide with fear. It was strange. Ian was a highly opinionated, snarky guy when he was around Mickey , but in the presence of the guys, he fell to pieces.

"What do you think, Mickey ?"

Mickey looked up quickly, "Wh-what?" he asked.

Ian was staring at him now, eyes pleading. He had to look away.

"What do you think we should do with him?"

Mickey almost suggested letting him go, but he couldn't say that. For one, they'd think he'd gone soft and secondly, this was what he was supposed to do. He was supposed to put these kids in their places, teach them where they belonged.

"I don't know," he said, narrowing his eyes in deep thought. All of the things Iggy had suggested seemed pretty harsh. Slushies would leave Ian soaked through for the day. Being locked inside a locker had to be torture and swirlies were most definitely not pleasant. But Mickey had to choose, because if he didn't, that meant Karofsky would and he would choose the most painful, horrible method. "Slushie machine?"

"Boring," Karofsky said, face twisting. "I say locker."

"How about," Iggy said, with a smile. "We lock him in here," he thumped the locker and Ian jumped again and so did Mickey . "And we go get rid of his scarf so that he has to go round all day, showing off that big, ugly, gay hickey?"

Ian's pale face was paler than ever. He turned his eyes on Mickey , almost pleading with him to do something. Mickey looked away. There was nothing he could do, this had to be done.

"Sure," Mickey shrugged, his mouth developing into a faux smile.

* * *

Mickey pulled the scarf out of the garbage once Iggy and Karofsky had gone to class. It was covered in food. He grimaced as he walked back to the hallway where his locker stood. He felt beyond sick now and the smell of spaghetti, or whatever that was was not helping in the least. This was easily the worst week of his life and he'd had some pretty bad weeks. He opened his locker, trying to push away the memories of the night before and just _everything_ that had gone so horribly wrong lately. He shoved the dirty scarf inside and slammed his locker shut. Then he heard the banging sounds coming from behind him.

 _Ian._

He moved forward and pulled the locker door open, knowing he should probably leave him in there, just in case Iggy or Karofsky found out, but he couldn't stand there and listen to him thumping away from the inside. He told himself it was because he was worried Ian would tell people what had happened if he didn't let him out, but deep down he knew that wasn't the reason. The reason was that he was weak these days, he didn't want to do this any more, even though he knew it was what he was supposed to do, but sometimes he just wanted to not be that guy, the one everyone feared and loathed, he just wanted to get through his senior year without any problems and so far, that wasn't working out too well for him.

Mickey stood back and Ian climbed out, looking distraught and as if he couldn't really breathe properly. The lockers were tight fitted spaces, of course he would have problems breathing.

"Uh," Mickey said, awkwardly. "Are you, y'know, okay and all that?"

"I'm just dandy, Mickey ," Ian said, angrily, brushing his clothes off. Mickey 's eyes found the hickey again and he felt himself blushing, remembering that he had been the one to put it there. That sinking feeling in his stomach was more prominent than ever now. "Now get the hell away from me before I say something I'm going to regret."

Mickey got out of there fast.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7:**

Mickey was avoiding him. Not that Ian minded, particularly, because he was mad at him. And it wasn't just a whim, Ian was really mad at him for allowing what he did in what he claimed was 'his school'. He could have stopped it, Ian knew that. The problem was that he _wouldn't_ stop it and mostly because he believed that he couldn't. Ian could see right through him. He was afraid. He didn't want people to think he was a nice guy, he wanted to be seen as a threat, because that was how he gained respect. It was also the only way he knew how to be.

Ian had spent a lot of time thinking about it. A week passed and Mickey still hadn't spoken to him. During English, they ignored one another. Ian used this time to think. Mickey obviously had some kind of emotional problem, whether it had to do with his parents, or his grades, or whatever else. He also had sexuality issues, obviously. Ian didn't think he was ready to admit that, though. Maybe he never would be. From what Mercedes and the others in glee club told him, Mickey and Quinn had been an item for two years and it looked serious. Ian didn't point out that Mickey , at least, obviously wasn't taking it very seriously if he had cheated on Quinn with him, but he was thinking it all the while.

Ian was angry at Mickey , but try as he did, he didn't hate him— _couldn't_ hate him. It was strange. Ian found himself trying to figure Mickey out and thinking about him far more often than he really should have done. He liked Mickey , in some twisted way. Maybe he was a masochist. He didn't know. Mickey was an asshole and he treated Ian like crap, but Ian couldn't help but think back to how gentle he'd been when he'd first kissed him, how he'd uttered his name so quietly and how his heart had been beating so fast against Ian 's back that night. Ian had tried to push it away, the memory of that night, but he couldn't. It wasn't going to go away, regardless of what he did and he didn't want to think of Mickey like this, he wanted to hate him, wanted to tell him to stay away from him, wanted to go to Mrs Flynn and beg her to reassign him a partner, but he couldn't do any of that.

He told himself then that he would make Mickey a sort of project. He wouldn't tell Mickey that, of course, but he would try to work him out and understand why he was the way he was. At least then he might have an excuse for not hating him. Beyond doing that, he wasn't really sure what else he could do. He wouldn't even try to help him, because Mickey clearly didn't want anyone to help him, but he would try to understand. Except Mickey was avoiding him, which left Ian right back at square one. He was far too stubborn to be the first one to break the newly formed ice, so he would have to wait until Mickey got down off his high horse to do anything.

It was exactly a week and three days before that happened.

* * *

Mickey didn't understand why he was feeling what he was feeling. He still couldn't rid his stomach of that nagging, empty feeling and he had figured out why. He didn't understand it, but he'd figured it out. It had occurred to him while he was at Quinn's house and she was placing sloppy kisses on his neck. He stared up at the white ceiling and just blanked for a while. He and Quinn hadn't made up following the party incident, instead, Quinn had simply put it behind them and acted as if nothing had ever happened. Mickey didn't argue, because Quinn was the one everyone expected him to be with and on top of that, he hated fighting with her, not because he loved her so much that he never wanted any uneasy feeling between them, but because she was sort of irritating and he didn't need any more nagging than he was already enduring.

It struck him at that moment that the reason all of this was happening was Ian Gallagher . He wasn't sure why exactly, but he had figured out that it had only happened after Ian had arrived at McKinley and most of the time, it got really bad when he was in his presence. He had accepted that he didn't like hurting Ian , he just hadn't figured out why until now and the reason was that _he liked him._ And Mickey didn't just like Ian , he really liked him and in ways that he had never liked anyone else. Yes, he had a twisted way of showing it, but frankly, that wasn't a bad thing, because he didn't want to show it at all.

Mickey had never had any reason to believe he was gay, nor had he ever given himself any reason to believe he was straight. If he was honest, he had never really been attracted to anyone, not really. Sure, the odd person here and there when he'd been a lot younger, but that hadn't happened in a long time. There had been girls before Quinn, but he'd really only dated them to keep up with the other guys who seemed to have a different girlfriend every other week. The fact was that Mickey had never really addressed his sexuality completely. Of course, like all teenagers, he'd experienced the thought w _hat if I'm gay?,_ but he had never really and truly thought it out. He'd dismissed it the second he'd thought it, all those years ago, because he couldn't be gay, he was Mickey Milkovich and things like that didn't happen to people like Mickey Milkovich.

Now, with Quinn's body pressed to his, it was a whole new kettle of fish. He'd thought a lot about what had happened between himself and Ian and the more he thought about it, the more the panic seemed to flit away. It was still there, of course, because the idea of being gay, or even bi, was terrifying to him. His father would have a heart attack and he would be instantly considered a social pariah and he couldn't handle either of those things, so he decided the only thing to do was to push it away. That way, it might just go away. Except it didn't and he refused to accept it.

Then he'd started over-thinking it. He couldn't be gay, because things like that didn't happen to people like Mickey . He would grow up, get into a good college, marry Quinn, get a good job and start a family. His future was mapped out for him and Ian Gallagher was obviously just some sort of phase. Perhaps he had mistaken real friendship for something more, simply because the people he called his friends, weren't anything like friends were supposed to be. That had to be it. That was his story and he was sticking to it.

After football practice on Thursday after school, Mickey had walked back to his locker to pick up his books and that was when he bumped into Ian . They had stopped still in the hallway and just stared at each other for a moment and Mickey couldn't help feeling a bit relieved that Ian hadn't simply spun on his heel and walked away. Even if he didn't believe he liked Ian in ways that he shouldn't, he still sort of wanted to be friends with him, or at least go back to the strained friendship they'd had already. Besides, their assignment was suffering. Mrs Flynn had assigned the cultural context paper, just as Mickey had expected, yet he and Ian hadn't even begun yet.

Mickey was the first to speak.

"Hey," was all he said.

Ian just stood there, blue eyes wide. He was wearing really tight pants again and Mickey couldn't help remembering what he'd looked like without those pants. He shook his head, trying to get rid of that image.

"What are you, um, doing here, so late?" Mickey asked.

"Glee club," Ian provided and Mickey nodded. To Mickey 's surprise, Ian went on. "I, um, forgot some things in my locker."

"Oh," Mickey said and instantly felt dumb for not knowing what else to say. He wanted to talk to him, he just didn't know how.

Mickey watched as Ian began to walk towards his locker in silence. Mickey followed.

"So, um, our 'Jane Eyre' paper.." Mickey trailed off, unsure of how he should finish that sentence. He ignored the empty feeling in his stomach as he tried to think of what else to say, but Ian spoke first.

"Yeah," he said, as he began to twist the lock on his locker door. "We should probably get on that, huh?"

"Yeah," Mickey said. He watched Ian for another while, as he twisted his combination lock over and over, sighing every time the locker didn't click open. Finally, he reached across to help, but his hand landed on Ian 's. Ian 's eyes met his and neither of them budged for a long time. Mickey kept his eyes locked with Ian 's baby blues, unable to look away. He could hear his heart beating in his chest and a lump had formed in his throat, leaving him incapable of speech. His hand was still on Ian 's and neither of them had made any move to break contact. Mickey 's mind was spinning because this was what was not supposed to happen, it was something he definitely did not want to happen. But he couldn't pull away, his body wouldn't allow it and at that moment, his mind betrayed him and forgot the difference between right and wrong and all he could do was stand there.

Ian didn't look away, either. He wore a blank expression and Mickey couldn't tell what he was feeling. It was Ian who tried to speak first.

"Mickey , I—"

* * *

One minute Ian had been speaking, trying to tell Mickey .. something (he wasn't sure what exactly, but speaking had felt like the right thing to do), and the next minute, Mickey had shoved him up against his locker and pressed his lips against his. Ian gasped when his back hit the cool, hard locker, but then forgot about it, because Mickey 's tongue had shot past his lips and plunged through his teeth and had found a rhythm with his own tongue. Ian didn't know why it was happening, he just knew that, despite the fact that this was Mickey Milkovich, the guy who had been treating him like crap since the first day he'd entered McKinley High, he didn't want it to stop and it frightened him a little bit that he could feel this way about someone who put him through hell.

Then he felt how softly Mickey 's lips were pressing against his own and how gently his hands were clutching his shoulders and he was reminded of the Mickey that had spent the night with him the previous week.

"I'm mad at you," Ian whispered once Mickey had moved back an inch or two.

"Are you?" Mickey asked. Ian caught the small smile dancing on the corners of Mickey 's lips and couldn't resist smiling himself. Mickey inched forward a little so that his lips were brushing Ian 's again. "How mad?" he breathed, breath warm on Ian 's mouth.

"I can't remember," Ian told him, truthfully.

"That's what I thought," Mickey said, succumbing to the smile, before covering Ian 's mouth with his again.

Was this the real Mickey Milkovich? And if so, what did Ian have to do to convince him it was okay to just be himself?

* * *

Mickey kissed him again when they met up to work on their paper. He'd kissed him when they left the library and then again when they stopped at a red light on the way home. Neither of them understood it entirely, but they both wanted it, so why stop?

After the fourth time, it began to feel sort of normal. Ian liked this side of Mickey and as much as he hated that it was happening, he was sort of falling for him, against his own better judgment, of course. So, for a while, he didn't dare discuss their little arrangement for fear of it all becoming too real, thus coming to an end.

Except the fact that it was happening kept playing on his mind. Mickey was straight, or at least claimed to be. He had a girlfriend, he was still treating him like crap in front of his friends and every time they kissed, Mickey seemed to act as if it hadn't happened, or like it hadn't meant a thing. Ian felt as if it was time to ask questions, find out what this was.

One day while they were at the library working on their paper, Ian asked him about it.

"Mickey ."

"Hmm?" Mickey asked, as he searched through his book for something, eyebrows furrowed in the centre.

"Do you think you might be gay?"

Mickey 's eyes shot up, then and the book fell from his hands, causing him to lose his page. He didn't look as if he cared about that, though.

"Wh-what?"

"Do you think you might be gay?" Ian repeated.

"Of course not," Mickey shook his head. "Why would I be gay?"

Ian didn't say anything, just raised an eyebrow and Mickey looked nervous. Ian didn't want to push him because he knew what it was like to be afraid because of who you were.

"What about Quinn?"

He looked distressed now.

"What about her?" he asked, golden eyes darting around.

"You're cheating on her."

"No, I'm no—"

"Mickey ," Ian said, over him. "If you're making out with someone that is not your girlfriend, it means you're cheating on your girlfriend."

This seemed to be news to Mickey . He dropped his chin and stared down at the table. Ian wondered if it would be weird if he leaned across and laid a hand over his, after all, they'd had their tongues in one another's mouths. But he didn't do it, because Mickey was still Mickey and even if he wasn't as bad when it was just the two of them, he was still on the defence most of the time.

"Do you love her?"

"What?" Mickey asked, looking up. He looked a bit stunned.

"Quinn," Ian clarified. "Do you love her?"

Mickey was silent for a while, his eyes back on the table in front of him.

"She's my girlfriend," he muttered with a lazy shrug.

"That's not what I asked," Ian pointed out.

"She.." Mickey trailed off, searching for words. "She's hard to love."

"So, no," Ian nodded.

Mickey didn't argue. It gave Ian an inexplicable thrill to hear him clarify that. He shook his head.

"So, why are you even with her?"

Mickey kept his eyes on the table for a few seconds, his hand clutching a pen. His fist was clenched around it and Ian watched as the pen burst and blue ink exploded all over Mickey 's hand and the table in front of him. He raised his head then. He looked pained.

"Why do you care?" he asked, grimacing down at his ink-covered hands.

"I don't care," Ian sighed, pulling a small packet of tissues from the side pocket of his bag. He handed them to Mickey . "I just thought you could use someone to talk to. It certainly seems like you do," he said, gesturing to the pieces of pen on the table.

Mickey wiped the ink away and left the blotted tissues on the table in front of him.

"If I tell you something about me," Mickey began raising his eyes to Ian 's. "You've got to tell me something about you."

Ian shrugged.

"That's fair."

Mickey nodded and looked thoughtful for a couple of seconds. He had dropped his gaze from Ian 's and he was fidgeting with the pieces of broken pen.

"Quinn is.." he trailed off and shook his head. "I'm supposed to be with Quinn. She.. I mean, we—Quinn and I—we're.."

"The power couple or something, right?"

Mickey nodded.

"Yeah," he said. "Yeah, something like that. It's like.. I'm Mickey Milkovich, so I'm supposed to be dating Quinn Fabray, you know?"

It was messed up, but Ian understood.

"And if you didn't?"

Mickey looked uncomfortable. He'd looked uncomfortable to begin with, but now he looked like he wanted to cover his head and never come out again.

"I don't know," he shrugged. "My dad wouldn't be happy."

Ian opened his mouth to ask Mickey something, then closed it again.

"What?" Mickey asked.

He eyed him for a moment, then spoke.

"At Puck's party," Ian said. "Quinn said something about.. your dad beating you up."

Mickey nodded and clasped his hands together.

"Oh."

"You don't have to tell me," Ian assured him.

Mickey stayed silent for a while. Ian watched him, tried to work out what he was thinking.

"It's okay," Mickey said, finally. "Yeah, he's done it before."

"For what reasons?" Ian asked, hoping he wasn't going too far.

Mickey was twisting his fingers uncomfortably and he still looked like he was in pain, but Ian wanted to know. He wanted to understand why Mickey was the way he was. He shouldn't have cared, he should have just stayed away from him and ignored him, because Mickey was a jerk most of the time, but he couldn't do that, he simply couldn't.

"Grades, if he thinks I haven't tried hard enough at football, if I come home drunk," he glanced at Ian then, probably looking for a reaction, but Ian just watched him, trying not to show the pity he was feeling. "Just whenever he feels like it, really."

"And your mom?" Ian asked. "She doesn't say anything?"

Mickey looked even more uncomfortable, then, even though Ian didn't think that was possible.

"My mom.. she's on a lot of meds," he explained. "I don't know what she's got, but she was pretty depressed for a while and now she's mostly just out of it."

Ian wasn't sure what he should say to that. Saying he was sorry seemed stupid. They just sat there in silence for a while and for once, it wasn't awkward.

"So, why are you telling me all this?" Ian asked, finally.

Mickey looked up at him, eyes wide.

"Because you asked," he shrugged.

"But you didn't _have_ to tell me," Ian said. "I don't understand you most of the time."

"What do you mean?" Mickey asked, quietly.

"I mean," Ian said. "You're like this sometimes. All straight up and.. vulnerable, I guess. And then you're kissing me," Mickey flinched a bit at that. "And you're sort of.. nice to me, when the others aren't around. Why?"

Mickey didn't say anything. So Ian went on.

"You're still an asshole, Mickey . I mean, you've gotten better, when it's just us, but at school you're an absolute idiot. At the beginning, when we started this partnership, whatever, you were always on the defence, hiding behind these walls you built up around yourself. You've torn them down a little bit, but that doesn't make up for what you do to me—and other kids—at school. I can't decide if I like you or hate you."

"You hate me?" Mickey asked, hazel eyes wide and questioning.

"Should I?" Ian asked, with a shrug.

"Yeah," Mickey sighed, looking down at his hands. "You're supposed to hate me. I'm supposed to hate you. We're supposed to hate each other."

"But?"

"But we don't, do we?" Mickey asked, his face a mask of worry. "I mean, at least I don't _think_ you hate me. Sometimes I think you must. Sometimes when we're at school and you're scowling at me and sending off those 'come-near-me-and-you'll-die' vibes, I think that you do hate me. You have every right to, I guess."

"I do have every right to," Ian agreed. "But I don't hate you."

He wasn't lying, either. He didn't hate Mickey . He hated the things that Mickey _did,_ but he didn't hate Mickey himself.

"You don't?" That seemed to surprise Mickey .

"No," Ian affirmed. "I just think you need to be who you really are, rather than that someone that everyone expects you to be."

"I can't."

"Yes, you can," Ian told him. "Maybe it'll take a while for you to realise that, but you can."

Mickey gave a small inclination of his head, as he continued to stare down at the table. Then he looked up, like he had remembered he wasn't supposed to get vulnerable.

"You never told me anything about you."

Ian shrugged and leaned forward to rest his elbows on the table.

"What do you want to know?"

"Whatever you want to tell me, I guess."

Ian didn't know where to begin, really. He thought about it for a little while, then decided, basing his decision on the fact that Mickey was still an asshole and although he didn't want to hurt him, exactly, he wanted to make him feel at least a little bit guilty.

"When I was at my old school, I got bullied every day," he watched as Mickey shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "It started off like it is now, name calling, shoving, getting stuffed in lockers and thrown in dumpsters, but then it got worse."

"How much worse?" Mickey asked in a choked voice. He looked as if he hadn't really wanted to ask, but had forced himself to.

"Like I said before, broken bones, blood, all that," Ian shrugged. "That was pretty bad, but do you want to know what the worst part is?"

Mickey gave a small nod.

"The worst part is when you have to see your dad look at you with piteous eyes because you're a victim," Ian said. "When you see the hurt in his eyes, because he didn't know, because he didn't do anything about it. And then you watch him get mad and you feel like you've done something wrong, when in reality, you haven't. The bullies are in the wrong, not you. But you feel like you are, because you've caused your father to feel all these things."

"Ian , I didn't kno—"

"And then he had heart problems," Ian went on, not caring that there were tears welling in his eyes. This had begun as a means of making Mickey feel bad, but in the process, he was reliving it and hurting himself. "And I know the worry and the stress caused it. Sure, he wasn't eating healthily, or exercising enough, but I know. _I know._ I know that everything with me made things worse and that's the worst part, Mickey . I can't let that happen again."

Ian watched through blurred vision as Mickey took the packet of tissues and pulled one out, before offering it to Ian . He took it and dabbed at his eyes, cursing himself for crying in front of Mickey Milkovich.

"I'm sorry."

Ian looked up in surprise, his cyan eyes shining and wide.

"Wh—what?" Ian asked, a little stunned.

Mickey folded his arms and looked uneasy. He spoke again, a little louder this time.

"I'm sorry," Mickey repeated and he looked as if he meant it. "I'm sorry that this is happening to you again. I just—I don't know what I can do, Ian . And I want to do something, I do. You don't know what it's like for me. I can't just stand back and not do anything. Everything will fall apart. I can't, I just.."

Mickey trailed off, shaking his head, looking distraught. Ian studied him and he could tell he meant it, that he was internally conflicted and afraid and all of those things he would never admit to being.

"I get it," Ian told him. "I get that you're afraid, Mickey ."

This time, Mickey didn't object or deny that he was afraid. He simply sat still, staring at Ian with those wide, golden orbs.

"I know you're afraid of losing all these things, Mickey and I understand, to an extent," Ian told him. "I just think that you can still succeed in life without all of this," Ian gestured at Mickey sitting there in his letterman jacket, with his gelled hair and his clenched jaw. "You don't have to be this, Mickey . I know you can't see that now, but it's true."

Mickey was staring off into space now, his eyes wide, his mouth set into a tight line. He looked as if he wanted to cry and Ian felt his stomach sinking. Just as it was nice to see a beautiful boy smile, it was heart breaking to watch him cry. Ian waited a minute, then cleared his throat.

"So, um, where did you stop on the question list?" Ian enquired, changing the subject.

"Um," Mickey looked flustered as he looked down at the loose sheets on the table. He rummaged through them and then squinted down at one. "Talk about Rochester's personality," he read.

"So, talk about Rochester's personality," Ian smiled.

"Rochester was a pervert," Mickey said, simply.

"A pervert?" Ian asked. "Why?"

Mickey shook his head and laid the paper down.

"Well, aside from the whole 'secret wife locked in the attic' fiasco," Mickey explained. "He was, like, 20 years older than Jane."

"Just because your love interest is 20 years younger than you, doesn't mean you're a pervert," Ian shook his head.

"Oh, yeah?" Mickey raised a thick brow. "What does it mean, then?"

Ian sighed and sat back in his chair.

"It just means," Ian began. "That you don't get to choose who you fall in love with, it just happens, regardless of how different you are, it just happens and there's nothing you can do about it."

* * *

Ian could see Mickey standing a little further away as Karofsky lifted him off his feet. He shot Mickey a look of disapproval, before he was flung inside the dumpster. He climbed to his feet, just as Karofsky walked away laughing to himself. Mickey was still standing there, his mouth down turned and his eyes wide and sad. He gave Ian an apologetic look as he climbed out of the bin. Ian brushed his clothes off and gave Mickey his best scowl, before stalking off to the bathroom to clean himself up.

* * *

Mickey waited until the halls were completely clear, before he pushed the bathroom door open and walked inside. Ian was standing by the sinks, grimacing at the scarf he was wringing out under the running faucet. He looked up when Mickey walked in and rolled his eyes in response.

"I'm sorry," Mickey told him, truthfully.

He was sorry, too, really sorry, especially since Ian had told him what had happened to him before. He figured there wasn't much point in pretending any more, not when Ian seemed to understand what he was dealing with.

"Yeah, so you keep saying," Ian sighed.

"I mean it, though. I am sorry," he told him, moving closer. Mickey took a handful of paper towels from the dispenser and ran them under the running water. He raised them and wiped at the large mayonnaise stain on Ian 's forearm. Ian jerked back a bit.

"I can handle this on my own," he said. "I've had enough practice, after all."

Mickey sighed and began to dab at the stain again.

"Look, I'm trying to help you, here," he said and Ian didn't move away this time.

After a long silence, Ian moved away an inch and Mickey dropped his hand. Ian looked at him with those bright, blue-green eyes and sighed, tiredly.

"Thanks, okay?" he muttered.

"You shouldn't be thanking me," Mickey said, throwing the paper towels towards the bin and missing.

"I know," Ian said, bending to pick them up. He threw them into the bin. "I shouldn't be doing a lot of things with you, but I'm still doing them."

Mickey smiled a bit, because, even though he still didn't really understand why Ian was talking to him and not hating him and _kissing_ him—especially kissing him—he still couldn't help how he was around him. Yes, the empty feeling and the dread was still in the pit of his stomach and yes, his head still spun a little every time he was near him, but he still sort of liked Ian , even if he didn't like him in _that_ way. Mickey was straight and these things were happening and he didn't know why, but he didn't know how to stop and sometimes, he didn't even want to stop.

"Are you okay?" Mickey asked, allowing his eyes to sweep over Ian , from his head, down to his combat boots. "Are you hurt?"

"No," Ian shook his head and Mickey smiled when he saw a piece of diced onion stuck in his hair. He reached up and began to untangle it from his sand-brown hair and Ian moved back a little. "What are you—"

"Onion," Mickey told him and Ian stopped moving and allowed Mickey to remove it. He smiled and held it up for Ian to see.

"Ew," Ian shuddered.

Mickey flung it in the bin, not missing this time, then looked back at Ian . They looked at each other for a couple of heart beats, staying silent, then Mickey gave in and leaned across. He pressed his mouth to Ian 's tasting coffee and banana. He felt Ian 's lips developing into a smile against his own as he pushed him gently back against the wall, deepening the kiss. Ian raised his arms, slowly and entwined them around Mickey 's neck, as Mickey 's moved his to encompass Ian 's waist.

Mickey 's heart was beating manically in his chest as he remembered he hadn't locked the door. If someone walked in, he would be ruined. But he couldn't pull away, because it felt so good being so close to Ian , even if he didn't understand why. Or maybe he did understand, he just didn't want to.

Ian pulled back first with a small murmur.

"That's one of those things I shouldn't be doing with you, but I do anyway," he whispered, smiling slightly.

Mickey chuckled. They were still wrapped up in one another.

"Tell me about it," he said.

"I got ketchup on your sleeve," Ian told him. "That's your punishment for letting these bad things happen to me."

Mickey glanced down at the stain on his sleeve, then looked back up into Ian 's cerulean blues.

"Worth it," he exhaled. He hoped Ian hadn't heard him, but he had. Ian smirked and opened his mouth to speak, but Mickey moved forward and closed the gap between their lips, swallowing his words.

* * *

"What the hell, Karofsky?" Ian shouted.

One minute he'd been walking down the corridor, minding his own business and the next, he was being shoved inside the janitor's closet, by two giant-sized hands.

"Don't talk back to me, Gallagher !" Karofsky growled, shoving Ian hard against the wall.

The room was dimly lit by a small bulb hanging over head. It was filled with old paint cans and electrical tape and several frayed wires. It smelled like paint fumes and dust. Ian shuddered at the thought of just how filthy his clothes were going to be afterwards.

"I wasn't talking back to you," Ian said. "How could I talk back to you when you hadn't even spoken yet?"

"Do not get smart with me, Gallagher !" Karofsky shouted, his thick fingers moving to grip Ian 's thin arms. He would be covered in finger shaped bruises come night fall.

"I wouldn't have to say anything too clever for you to consider me smart, Karofsky," Ian said and instantly regretted it. Getting smart only meant things would worsen but he was so mad, he couldn't stand back and say nothing. "I mean, you're not exactly the brightest pea in the pod, are you?"

Karofsky made a loud groaning sound as he shoved Ian harder, his left hand gripping Ian 's side and pushing him hard against the wall.

"Why are you like this, huh?" Karofsky asked, eyes narrowed. He looked psychotic and Ian couldn't describe it any other way. "Why are you so gay? Why do you walk around swinging your little girl hips and wearing all this fucking glittery stuff? Why?"

Ian said nothing, because there was something in Karofsky's eyes, something he hadn't seen in the eyes of any of his former bullies before and frankly, it sort of terrified him. He glanced around the room, eyes lingering on the electrical tape and the wires and he really, really hoped the janitor would get back soon, because right now, Karofsky looked entirely capable of murder and this was probably the perfect location to do it.

"You need to stop doing all that!" Karofsky shouted and Ian flinched a bit. "You need to stop being so gay around me because it makes me crazy! I feel like punching you every single time I see you!"

Ian closed his eyes, then, because he assumed Karofsky was actually going to punch him, but it never came. Instead of a fist, Ian felt Karofsky's breath coming hard and fast against his face and then Karofsky's mouth was crashing against his own, their teeth colliding and Ian pulled back and screamed, because he didn't know what else to do. He didn't scream for long, though, because Karofsky's mouth was back against his again and his large hands were pinning him against the wall and he wasn't strong enough to push him away.

Ian tried to thump on the door with his fist, but he wasn't making much progress. His heart was palpitating in his chest and he felt the warm, salty tears escaping from his eyes even though he told himself he wouldn't cry. Then Karofsky's body was coming closer to his and he felt panic soaring through his veins. He wasn't sure what gave him the strength to do it, whether it was the adrenaline or something else, he didn't know, but he bit down hard on Karofsky's lip, causing him to pull back and curse at him. Ian screamed as loud as he could and Karofsky looked scared, like he didn't know what to do.

"Sh-shut _up,_ Gallagher !" he said, sounding strangled. His eyes were darting around and then he looked as if he'd gotten an idea. He moved forward and covered Ian 's mouth with his again, stifling his scream.

* * *

Mickey stopped still. He'd heard it, he wasn't crazy. Someone was screaming and the sound sent chills down his spine. He swung around and listened, trying to decipher where it had come from. The screaming stopped and he strained to hear for it again. Then he heard a shuffling sound coming from his right hand side.

The janitor's closet.

He didn't think, he simply went across the hall and pulled the door open. Nothing could have prepared him for what he saw.

"What the fuck, Karofsky?" Mickey exploded, pulling Karofsky off of a struggling Ian . "What the fuck are you doing?"

Karofsky looked frustrated and angry and Mickey wanted to punch his lights out. Before he had the chance, Karofsky groaned and pushed the door open and ran off down the hallway. Mickey turned to look at Ian , who had slid down the wall and covered his face with his hands.

Mickey fell to his knees and pulled Ian 's hands away gently.

"Ian ," he said, softly. "Ian , I—" he broke off, not sure what to say.

Ian 's face was tear stained and his eyes were wide and filled with terror. His hands were shaking in Mickey 's grasp.

"Ian , I'm sorry," he said, finally, because he didn't know what else to say. "I—he shouldn't have—he had no right to do that—it was wrong—"

"Why?" Ian semi-shouted, his face twisted angrily. "He just did exactly what you've been doing for the past few weeks, Mickey !"

Mickey stared at him as he tore his hands out of his and stood up. Mickey stood, too.

"Don't stand there and tell me what's right and what's _wrong,_ Mickey ," Ian said, voice cracking a bit, tears still coming from his shining blue eyes. "You and him? You're no different. _You're exactly the same_!"

Ian pushed past him and walked out the door. Mickey followed and shouted after him.

"Ian , you're not in any state to be on your own!" he said, not even thinking about the fact that there were people in class. "I'll come with you and hel—"

"Stay away from me, Mickey ," Ian shouted, not even glancing back at him.

Mickey stood there and watched him go and he felt worse than he had ever felt in all his seventeen years of living.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8:**

Mickey didn't think he would feel as awful as he did. Somehow, not talking to Ian following the issue with Karofsky was worse than not talking to him before. He hated it. He hated sitting next to him in English and watching him out of the corner of his eye, waiting to see if he would look in his direction. He never did. Not unless you counted the scowls he sent him every now and then.

The Karofsky issue was also confusing. Karofsky was easily the most homophobic person Mickey knew, maybe even worse than Mickey's dad. Mickey's mind was working overtime, trying to work everything out. Then he started to think of crazy things. He thought about the fact that he himself had kissed Ian (and there was the other stuff, but he didn't like to think about that) and the fact that Karofsky had kissed Ian , and he wondered if the problem was _Ian ._ Neither he nor Karofsky had ever displayed any signs of being gay before Ian 's arrival.

Then he realised it was a ridiculous theory. It wasn't Ian 's fault. Obviously, Karofsky was hiding something. But did that mean Mickey was hiding something, too?

He pushed that thought aside, because thinking about Ian and their situation made his head hurt. He needed to figure out a way to get Ian to talk to him again, but he had no idea how. He still wasn't sure why he wanted to talk to him so badly. He told himself that it was because he needed him for the assignments and that if he didn't get an A, his dad would be livid. However, he knew, deep down, that that wasn't the reason. He liked Ian , he'd accepted that, to an extent and that was why he wanted to talk to him.

Mickey watched Ian across the lunch room as he laughed with those losers from glee club. Berry was scowling and telling them to quieten down. No one listened, of course. No one ever listened to Berry. Sam Evans had his face twisted and was talking out of the corner of his mouth. The guy was always doing those stupid impressions, even in the locker room after football. Santana Lopez stared blankly at him as Brittany S. Pierce laughed. Mickey didn't remember the rest of their names.

Ian was laughing at something Mercedes Jones was telling him. Mercedes was in Mickey's math class, that was the only reason he knew her name. Mickey scowled and tore his eyes away from Ian and instead, looked down at his lunch. He couldn't eat another bite, just looking at it was making him feel sick. He stood up.

"Where are you going?" Puckerman asked, beside him.

"Bathroom," he shrugged and lifted his tray.

He left it on a trolley and walked out the door and into the empty halls. He turned the corner and Coach Sylvester was standing by the choir room, holding a glue gun.

"You're not supposed to be roaming the halls, Milkovich!" she shouted at him.

"Bathroom," he provided.

"Oh," she said. "Well, you didn't see me here and if you say otherwise I'll deny it and have you tried for treason."

Mickey twisted his face in confusion and looked at what she was doing.

"Are you.. _you're gluing the choir room door_?" he asked.

"Are you going to stand there stating the obvious, dwarf?" she asked, as she continued to squirt the glue into the crack of the door. "Move it along! I have a glee club to destroy and you have a bladder that's going to explode if you don't get yourself to a toilet!"

Mickey gaped at her for another moment, then shrugged and continued on down the hall. He stopped still when he reached the end of the corridor. Ian was in glee club. Mickey rushed around the corner to the bulletin board and squinted his eyes until he saw it.

 _ **NEW DIRECTIONS!**_

 _ **LOOKING FOR NEW MEMBERS!**_

 _ **GLEE, BY ITS VERY DEFINITION, IS ABOUT OPENING YOURSELF UP TO JOY!**_

 _ **AUDITIONS ON TODAY AFTER SCHOOL IN THE CHOIR ROOM!**_

Mickey stared at it for a long time. The audition list below was empty, as always. He chewed nervously on his bottom lip, then he did it. He took the pen in his shaking hands and scribbled his name at the top of the empty sheet of paper.

 _Mickey Milkovich._

He had no idea what his plan was, but Ian was in glee club and that meant he would have a better chance of him talking to him. He walked away, heart thumping far too quickly against his ribcage and feeling a little bit ill, but he also felt a burst of relief running through his body. Maybe this was a step towards redemption.

* * *

"Rachel, calm down," Mr Schuester said, holding up his hands. "It's just glue, we'll have this open in no time!"

"But you said we had a possible new member auditioning! What if this scares them off? We need all the students we can get to sing back up to me!"

"Rachel," Mercedes deadpanned. "Shut up."

"Okay!" Mr Schuester said, voice going an octave higher. "The janitor's here!"

The mention of the janitor brought back images of the incident in the janitor's closet to Ian 's mind. He shivered and tried to push away that hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"You know, this had to be Coach Sylvester's doing!" Rachel pointed out and even though everyone knew that was true, they all groaned, because Rachel never knew how to keep her mouth shut. They waited until the janitor had pried the door open, before piling inside and taking their seats.

"Okay!" Mr Schue said, clasping his hands together at the front of the room. "I couldn't actually _read_ the name on the sheet, it looked as if it had been written in a hurry! But—"

"You couldn't read the name?" Rachel exploded standing up out of her seat. "Mr Schuester! What if it was simply someone defacing the sign up sheet! Are there rude words on there?"

"Rachel, sit down," Mr Schue said, patiently. "It's a name, I just had trouble reading it, but—"

There was a light rap on the door and everyone looked towards it. Ian 's eyes widened when he saw the letterman jacket and the gelled hair and the worried eyes. The others started whispering and protesting. Mr Schue quietened the class and turned to look at the boy standing in the doorway.

"Mickey, can I help you with something?"

Mickey looked more uncomfortable than Ian had ever seen him look. Actually that wasn't true. Ian thought back to the morning after Puck's party. That had definitely been the most uncomfortable Ian had ever seen Mickey, this was just a close second.

"Yeah, _Mickey,_ are you lost?" Rachel exclaimed from her seat.

Mickey ignored her and looked at Mr Schue.

"Um, I, uh, signed up for a—um, audition," he said, eyes finding the ground.

The students began whispering again and Mr Schue hushed them. Ian said nothing, just stared at Mickey, trying to figure out if this was some kind of prank. He knew, deep down, that it wasn't, but he couldn't understand what was going on.

"Oh, well, that's great!" Mr Schue grinned, happily.

"Mr Schuester, this is a bad, bad, _bad_ ide—"

"Rachel," Mr Schuester said in a warning tone. "You know we need more students for sectionals! Let's give Mickey a chance!"

It seemed like a lot of people were giving Mickey chances, even if he didn't really deserve them. Maybe it was his face that made people behave the way they did around him.

"Mickey, do you have a song you could sing?"

Ian didn't know why, but it just occurred to him then that Mickey would have to sing. _Could Mickey sing?_

He watched as Mickey spoke quietly to the band, then walked back to the centre of the room. He smoothened his hair back a little bit as the music started to play. Ian had never heard this song before. Mickey was shifting his feet uncomfortably, his eyes staring off into vacant space. Then he started to sing.

 _"You know it ain't easy,_

 _For these thoughts here to leave me,_

 _There's no words to describe it,_

 _In French or in English."_

Ian widened his eyes, because Mickey could sing. And he couldn't just sort of sing, he could _really_ sing. His voice was sweet and he had good tone and suddenly he wanted to shake Mickey really, really hard and tell him he was doing all the wrong things with his life. How could he waste that voice? Why not showcase it to anyone and everyone?

 _"Well, diamonds they fade,_

 _And flowers they bloom,_

 _And I'm telling you."_

Ian watched as Mickey raised his eyes a little bit. His hazel orbs found Ian 's blue ones and he tilted his head a little bit, as if to say he was sorry. Ian didn't move an inch, just listened to Mickey singing.

 _"These feelings won't go away,_

 _They've been knockin' me sideways,_

 _They've been knockin' me out lately,_

 _Whenever you come around me."_

Ian could feel the atmosphere in the room. It was a cross between tension and wonderment. Ian understood what everyone else was feeling, because this was a real shock. Mickey Milkovich had a beautiful voice and he spent his time slushying people and shoving them against lockers.

On top of that, Mickey was staring at him, like he was singing to him. He couldn't be, obviously, because let's face it, this was Mickey Milkovich. But Ian felt something then and the lyrics triggered something in his mind and mother of God, Mickey Milkovich was _singing to him._ Or so it seemed.

 _"These feelings won't go away,_

 _They've been knockin' me sideways,_

 _I keep thinking in a moment that,_

 _Time will take them away."_

Mickey tore his eyes away and Ian watched as he dropped his gaze to the ground as he sang the final line.

 _"But these feelings won't go away."_

The music faded out and everyone sat there in complete silence. Mickey kept his eyes on the ground, his hands sliding inside his pockets, awkwardly.

"That was—I mean, that was.." Rachel trialed off, lost for words for what had to be the first time in her entire life.

"Yeah, it was," Finn said, mouth hanging open, next to her.

"I think," Mr Schue said, leaning away from the piano. "That what everyone meant to say was welcome to glee club, Mickey! We're lucky to have you!"

"Um, thanks," Mickey muttered and took a seat in the front row.

Mr Schuester talked about sectionals and Rachel shouted her opinions at him while everyone else groaned in frustration. Ian didn't even pay attention because all he could do was stare at Mickey sitting there, his shoulders squared, his entire body rigid. What was this boy all about? Just when Ian thought he had him all figured out, he'd gone and done something like this.

Mickey Milkovich was a mystery, but he would make it his mission to figure him out.

* * *

"Hi."

Mickey turned away from his car and saw Ian standing there after glee club. He was still a bit shaken up from having sung in front of all those people.

"Oh, hey," Mickey said, quickly.

Ian gave small nod then spoke again. "So, um, my dad is fixing my car. Puncture. I told him I'd get a ride home with Mercedes, but I told her I was going to go work on our assignment with you."

"Oh."

"So, are you busy?"

"N-no, but I don't have my notes or anything—"

"That's okay," Ian shook his head. Shadows from the trees were cast all across his hair, making it look a shade darker than it actually was. "I don't, either. I was thinking we could just—talk?" Ian made it a question.

"Oh!" Mickey said, quickly. "Yeah. Yeah, okay."

* * *

"Your house is beautiful," Ian gasped, staring out the car window at what was practically a mansion.

"Um, thanks," Mickey said, quietly as he parked the car.

Mickey's house was huge. It was three storeys high and had a lot of windows. A long winding path lead up to the white door, small bushes on either side. The grass was green and obviously fake. It looked like the perfect house on the outside.

Ian followed Mickey inside, feeling awkward and as if he had to be very careful. Everything in Mickey's house seemed so expensive. Ian followed him upstairs and into what he assumed was Mickey's room.

"Are your parents—"

"My dad's never home," Mickey shook his head. "My mom's probably sleeping."

Ian nodded and sat down on the edge of Mickey's bed. Mickey sat down, too, a little bit away from Ian . His room was incredibly neat and not at all what Ian had expected. It looked like a middle aged man's study. It was all dark browns and bottle greens and gave no clues to the fact that it belonged to a seventeen year old boy.

"So, um," Mickey said, shifting a little on the bed next to Ian . "What did you, uh, want to talk about?"

* * *

Mickey felt uncomfortable having Ian in his room. He felt vulnerable and as if he was completely naked in public. He was anxious to know what Ian wanted to talk about and this was the only place he knew he could bring him without the entire population of McKinley High finding out they were hanging out. He felt bad about it, there was no point pretending to himself that he didn't. He didn't necessarily want to hide the fact that they were kind of friends, he just knew that he had no other choice.

"I wanted to apologise," Ian said and Mickey looked up quickly.

"Wh—wait. _You_ are apologising?" Mickey asked in an incredulous tone. "What do you have to apologise for?"

"I said you were exactly the same as Karofsky," Ian explained, frowning a little bit. "You're not, you know."

Mickey hadn't liked that Ian had said he was the same as Karofsky. Karofsky was an asshole and Mickey wasn't denying the fact that he himself was an asshole, he just didn't really want to be tarred with the same stick as him. Mickey hadn't confronted Karofsky about what he'd caught him doing to Ian , yet, because he needed to hear it from Ian first, needed to find out what exactly had occurred.

"Am I not?" Mickey asked, because he had thought long and hard about that. Ian had pointed out that Karofsky had done exactly what Mickey had been doing and he'd wondered if maybe he was right. Maybe they were no better than each other, even if Mickey never wanted to admit that.

"No, not at all," Ian said, those kaleidoscope eyes glittering in the light of Mickey's lamp. "I know that you're confused and afraid and that if I told you to get the hell off me, you'd get the hell off me."

Mickey's pulse began to race then, his stomach sinking.

"Ian , he didn't, like, touch you, or—anything, right?" Mickey asked, voice strained, because as much as he needed to know the answer, he wasn't sure he could handle it.

"Oh, no," Ian shook his head. "But I don't know what might have happened if.. Well. It doesn't matter. The point is, I shouldn't have said you were like him."

Mickey sighed and leaned back against the headboard of his bed.

"I don't know," he told the ceiling. "Either way, I should be the one apologising. I'm, um, sorry—about everything."

"Thanks," Ian said, giving Mickey a small smile. "So, glee club, huh?"

Mickey felt the blush creeping up the back of his neck. He nodded a bit, knowing he couldn't avoid the question that was bound to come next, and it did.

"Why did you join?"

"If I said 'no comment', would you accept that?"

"Not a chance," Ian told him and he sighed in response.

"Fine," he said. "I sort of wanted to talk to you and I didn't know how else I could do that and the sign up sheet was right there, so—I went for it."

Ian gaped at him, then and he wanted to pull his eyes away from his stunned face, but he couldn't.

"You joined glee club because of _me_?" Ian asked, voice filled with surprise.

Mickey gave a Gallic shrug and chewed on his bottom lip.

"You can sing, you know," Ian told him and it was Mickey's turn to look surprised. "Like, you can really sing."

"Thanks," Mickey said, one corner of his mouth tilting slightly upwards.

"But I need to ask you something."

Mickey shrugged again and waited for Ian to ask, his heart beating too quickly, because whenever someone asked if they could ask you something, it often meant it would be something you wouldn't like.

"The song," Ian said and Mickey's breath caught in his chest. He was afraid that the question would be centred around that topic. "Are you—I mean—why that song?"

Mickey sat up straight and looked at Ian watching him intently. He'd chosen that song because it best described how he'd been feeling. He didn't like that it did, but he'd quickly searched through his iPod after signing up for an audition and that song came on shuffle and although he'd listened to it a hundred times before, it seemed to scream out to him and he knew he had to sing it. He felt it when he listened to it, felt some sort of connection and he wished it would go away, but it didn't and that's what the song described exactly.

"It—" Mickey broke off then, because Ian cut him off.

"Wait," he said and stood up from the bed. He crossed the room and bent to look at Mickey's notice board, over by his desk. Mickey tore his eyes away from Ian 's backside, which was in his immediate line of sight and those pants never left much to the imagination and since Mickey knew exactly what Ian looked like _without_ those pants, staring at them only caused images of what he knew lay beneath to flood his spinning mind.

"I don't understand," Ian breathed out and Mickey stood to see what he was looking at. He fell back down when he saw Ian holding the slushie stained schedule that had belonged to him once in his hands. He'd unpinned it from the board and was studying it, those ocean blue eyes wide and inquisitive.

Mickey was pretty much busted. He'd tried so hard to push it all out of his own mind, but now that Ian was staring at him quizzically, it had all come back and his stomach was dancing and filled with fear and anxiety and dread and all of those bad things that it seemed to be so often filled with these days.

"Sit down?" Mickey asked, quietly. "I can explain."

Ian sat without another word.

"I—I can't explain what I'm going through, Ian ," he said, looking down at his hands as if they held the answers to everything.

"Try harder," Ian urged.

Mickey took a long inhale of air, then exhaled for a long time.

"The first time I saw you, I felt like I needed to talk to you," he admitted. "I didn't understand why—hell, I s _till_ don't understand why, but I did. Then the bullying started and—you know where I stand on that, I don't do it because I want to, I do it because I _have_ to and I know you don't think that's true, but I do, Ian . I felt terrible that first day—I've felt terrible every day since. I had Jacob Ben Israel do a little digging on you."

"Digging?" Ian asked, eyebrows furrowing.

"He didn't give me much," Mickey shrugged. "Just pointless little details. I also had him get me a copy of your schedule, which is how you had a brand new one on your first day. I kept the other one—obviously. I don't know why I kept it, I just did."

Mickey inched a bit closer without thinking and he wanted to move back again, but he couldn't now.

"There are so many things I've done since you arrived that I don't understand," Mickey told him, truthfully. His hands were shaking now, but he'd come this far now, he could go on. "It goes against everything I am that I'm even telling you all this. I haven't even accepted most of this myself, but I like you, Ian and I don't know if this is a friendship thing, or what it is, really, I just know that I like who I am when I'm around you and I hardly ever like who I am."

"I like who you are, too," Ian said, smiling. "I should hate you, you know that? I try to hate you every day, but even when you're standing by and letting your friends shove me in lockers, or when you're giving me slushie facials, I still don't hate you. I hate what you _do,_ but I don't hate you."

Mickey nodded, understanding. He felt a bit dizzy from everything.

"And—what about the.. kissing?"

Mickey looked at Ian again and breathed for a while, trying to get his head together.

"I don't know," he said, quietly. He didn't know, either. He didn't even want to know.

"That's okay," Ian said and Mickey felt relief washing over him. "I get it. Kind of, but the night of Puck's party—"

"I don't know about that, either," Mickey interjected. "I was drunk—"

"Not the next morning, you weren't," Ian reminded him. He had a point.

"I don't know," Mickey said in a whisper. "Haven't you ever had things happen to you that you couldn't explain?"

"Oh, every day, Mickey," Ian chuckled. "For example, I keep on forgiving you, when in reality, I shouldn't even want to breathe the same air as you. I don't understand that. I just don't quite think it's the same thing."

"It's exactly the same thing," Mickey informed him, with a shake of his head.

"To an extent, I guess," Ian shrugged. "But I think it's different with you. I can't tell if you're gay and you just don't know it, or if you're straight and just looking for someone to be close to, because you don't really have anyone."

Mickey widened his eyes. He hadn't thought of that, but that had to be it, didn't it?

"I don't know," he found himself saying. Ian gave a knowing nod in response.

"So, why that song?" he asked again.

"I felt like it expressed how I've been feeling lately," he shrugged. There was no point in pretending it wasn't true, not any more.

"All this stuff has been knocking you sideways, huh?" Ian asked, with a smirk.

Mickey shrugged and smiled back.

"I don't know the difference between right and wrong any more," he told Ian , not entirely sure what he had even meant by that.

"Well," Ian sat up and turned so that they were face to face. "What feels right to you?"

"Right now?" Mickey asked.

"Sure, if you want," Ian told him.

"Right now," Mickey began. "Nothing really feels like it's the way it's supposed to be, but lately, the way it's supposed to be has been sucking."

Ian laughed a little at that.

"I don't know what I'm doing any more and I definitely don't know what I'm going to do tomorrow, or the day after, or the day after that, because nothing ever feels right any more—well. There is one thing."

"What's that?"

"I spend every day confused and searching for answers and I never come up with anything," he told Ian , their eyes locked. "But the only time I ever feel like things are just right, like they are going to be okay and like something actually makes sense, is when I'm doing this."

And then Mickey was leaning across the bed and placing the palm of his shaking hand to Ian 's soft cheek. His lips pressed against Ian 's, slowly, until they found a rhythm with one another. Mickey could feel Ian 's heart thumping evenly against his chest and he couldn't dispute that he had meant everything he had just said, because for once, and for the first time in a long, long time, Mickey felt, with this boy's body slotted so perfectly against his own, that his life was steady and in sync with everything around him and maybe he wasn't sure about a lot of things, maybe he wasn't sure why he felt like he did, but he was sure that this was right, for some twisted, crazy, God forsaken reason, this felt right and in that moment, he could not have cared less about everything else in the world.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9:**

"I—can't, we—can't," Mickey said, sliding his hand out from underneath Ian 's shirt, the tips of his fingers placing tiny butterfly kisses all along Ian 's stomach as he went, sending small electric shocks all along his skin.

"Okay," Ian breathed, flopping back against Mickey 's pillows, his vision ever so slightly blurred. His lips felt bruised and his heart was beating wildly in his chest. "Okay."

Mickey fell back, too, his head flat on the bed rather than resting on the pillows. Ian found it a little amusing that Mickey had broken away first, saying they couldn't, since Mickey had been the one doing all the touching. Ian had simply sat with his back to Mickey 's headboard, his fingers entwined in those silky curls and allowed Mickey 's hands to explore various areas of his exposed skin, his fingers moving slowly and cautiously.

They lay there, breathing for a long time and then Ian sat up and looked down at the other boy, his letterman jacket now in a pile on the floor, his cheeks flushed a dusty shade of pink. Mickey stared up at him through a canopy of full, dark lashes, those golden brown eyes dilated and bright. Ian smiled, sadly, because Mickey looked so vulnerable like this. He liked when Mickey was vulnerable and real with him. Moments like these helped ease Ian 's mind every time he questioned himself about why he kept forgiving Mickey time and time again. When he thought of Mickey like this, he knew he wasn't making a mistake—or at least, he _hoped_ he wasn't.

"Are you okay?" Ian asked, softly.

"Yeah, it's just—that keeps happening," he said a little breathlessly. "Doesn't it?"

Ian chuckled and nodded. "Yeah," he said. "It seems like it. Is it time for you to jump up and panic and then run out of the house?"

Mickey twisted his face in confusion, but he was smiling, which was a good sign and definitely an improvement to previous reactions.

"No," he informed Ian . "Besides, this is _my_ house, remember?"

"Oh, yeah," Ian found himself grinning. He felt relieved that Mickey hadn't reacted badly and demanded he leave. "I remember now," Ian said, grabbing the stiff schedule with his picture in the corner and holding it up for Mickey to see. "I definitely don't have this stuck to any walls in my house."

Mickey 's jaw dropped open and he laughed. He leaned up and snatched the piece of paper from Ian and smoothened it out. Ian watched as he climbed off the bed and went towards his notice board. He pinned it back where it had been before. Ian raised an eyebrow.

"What?" Mickey said, sitting back down, his face a mask of innocence."I'm too used to having it there, now, so there it will stay," he declared.

Ian 's heart leapt a little as he nodded and smiled, timidly. Something about Mickey having his picture, even a picture that was faded and creased, filled him with some sort of pleasure and happiness.

"So, I don't mean to be a stick in the mud, here, or whatever," Ian said, then, his voice a little hoarse. He cleared his throat, then continued. "But how are you going to tell your— _friends_ about you joining glee?"

Mickey 's head shot up, quickly, his eyes widening with alarm.

"I hadn't thought of that," he said, voice catching. " _Shit_."

* * *

"Milkovich!" Mickey heard a voice echoing down the hallways of McKinley. He turned to see Puckerman running towards him, shoving kids out of the way. Mickey knew what was coming, he felt his heart beat speeding up. He took a deep breath and waited for Puck to reach him. When he did, he gave Mickey a quizzical expression. "Well?" he said. "What's this I hear about you joining those glee losers?"

Mickey sighed and slammed his locker shut.

"I didn't _want_ to," Mickey told him, hoping he sounded convincing enough. "It's my dad," he explained. "He doesn't think I'm involved in enough 'extra-curricular activities'," he twisted his fingers into air quotes and shook his head. "He said I need to join something else so that my college applications look better, or something. I had no choice, man."

He felt sickened with himself that he had fabricated that ridiculous tale.

"But why glee?"

"What else am I supposed to join?" Mickey asked, matter-of-factly. "I am not playing chess, I suck at science and hockey is obviously out." There was a lot of bad feeling between the footballers and the hockey players. Basically, they despised one another. "What else is left? Cheerios?" he asked, trying to add a sprig of humour to the mix.

"I guess," Puck said, with a frown.

"Dude, relax," Mickey said. "I'll hardly even go, it'll be fine."

"I hope so, Milkovich," Puck shook his head. "For your sake, I really, really hope so."

Puck stalked off down the hall and Mickey pressed his back to his locker, taking comfort in the cool metal against the back of his head.

He hoped so, too.

* * *

"Ian ," a muffled voice said on the other end of Ian 's phone. "K—Ian , I'm outside your—your house."

Ian sighed.

"Mickey ," he said, patiently. "Mickey are you—who am I kidding? Of course, you are. You're drunk."

"Only a little—little bit!" he protested. "Ian , let me in? Which one's your—your window, again, Ian ? Ian ? Ian !"

"Okay, okay!" Ian hissed. "My dad's sleeping, you need to stay quiet, okay?"

"Quiet?" Mickey shouted into Ian 's ear and he had to hold the phone away a couple of inches. "Did you say quiet, Ian ?"

"Mickey ," Ian said, quietly. "I'm not opening the door until you're completely silent."

Mickey said nothing. Ian waited a minute, then rolled his eyes and started up the stairs.

"Come to the door, but keep quiet," he said into the phone, before pressing the 'end call' button.

He crept out into the hallway and unlocked the front door. He opened it slowly, so that it didn't make too much noise. He opened it all the way and Mickey was standing there grinning at him. Ian raised a finger to his lips to remind Mickey to stay quiet, then stepped back and Mickey shuffled inside. Ian closed the door and locked up again, before gesturing for Mickey to follow him.

Mickey followed closely behind him, in complete silence, only the sound of his breathing audible. They finally reached Ian 's room in the basement. Ian closed the door behind them, quietly and tiptoed down the stairs, to find Mickey lying on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. He was singing quietly to himself.

"So," Ian said, unable to resist the smile dancing on his lips, as he sat down on the bed next to him. Mickey was pretty adorable like this, he had to admit. "Where have you been?"

"Someone's birthday," he told Ian , a goofy grin spreading across his face. "You should have come. It _sucked_."

"Why would I come if it sucked?" Ian asked, watching Mickey in amusement. Small tendrils lay across Mickey 's forehead. His eyes were wide and bright and his face was flushed. The light of Ian 's lamp cast an illumination across Mickey 's head, causing slivers of Mickey 's hair to appear white. Ian fought the urge to reach across and push his hair away from his face.

"Because if you'd been there, it wouldn't have sucked any more, _duh_!" Mickey rolled his dark eyes.

"Of course," Ian smirked. "So, what are you doing here?"

Mickey tilted his head, still smiling and looked up at Ian curiously.

"I felt like looking at your face."

Ian raised an eyebrow and cursed the fact that his heart beat had sped up again. He knew for a fact that his was the alcohol talking, but it was still touching for some reason.

"What were you doing before I got here?"

"Looking for a song."

"Why?"

"Because of our glee assignment, remember?" Ian asked. Mickey had been in glee club for three weeks now and he still hadn't grasped the fact that they had assignments every week.

Mickey sat up, his movements slow and grinned lopsidedly at Ian .

"I'm finally going to get to hear you sing?"

"Maybe," Ian said. He was nervous about singing in front of Mickey . He wasn't sure why. He'd done it in front of the entire glee club, more than once by now, yet the idea of singing while Mickey was present made his hands sweat and his head spin. Mickey seemed to bring it up a lot, which made Ian feel even more nervous. "We'll see."

"Ian ," Mickey said and it sounded like a question. Ian responded with a little 'hmm' sound, as he climbed to his feet and switched off his iPod, which was still playing music through his head phones, then slid it inside a drawer. "Why aren't you kissing me?"

Ian stopped still and took a couple of breaths, before turning to face Mickey . He tried to act calm and collected, but his heart had stopped briefly in his chest and he could almost feel the blood rushing through his veins.

"I kiss you, like, every day," Ian said, forcing a smile. "Actually, correction: _You_ kiss _me_ , every day."

Ian didn't like to instigate anything between himself and Mickey , because he never really knew where he stood when it came to their situation. Sometimes, Mickey would give in and just kiss him and even smile afterwards, which always made Ian smile, too. Other times, he would go silent and bury his head in his hands and that always made Ian feel sick. It was probably stupid, getting worked up because of Mickey Milkovich, but it happened regardless.

Ian had come to terms with it now, the fact that his feelings had grown and he maybe, sort of liked Mickey as more than just a friend, or whatever they were right now. He wouldn't tell Mickey that, but he'd accepted it himself, even if he didn't like it most of the time.

"I meant," Mickey said, eyes half-lidded. "Why aren't you kissing me _now_?"

 _Oh_.

"Because," Ian said, thankful for the fact that Mickey 's drunkenness probably meant he wouldn't notice that his voice was uneven as he spoke. "You smell like a liquor store."

"I know you want to kiss me," Mickey chuckled. "Ian . Ian ! You do, don't you?"

Ian folded his arms and shifted his feet and rolled his eyes in an attempt to convince Mickey that he did not want to kiss him.

"Tell you how I know?" Mickey asked, flinging his legs over the side of the bed and climbing to his feet. He wobbled a little, then caught his balance and went to stand directly in front of Ian . Ian swallowed hard. "I know because when you want to kiss me, you nibble on your bottom lip."

Ian froze, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. He felt himself blushing wildly. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came, because at that moment, Mickey lost balance and his hands reached up and clasped gently onto Ian 's forearms to steady himself. Unfortunately, Ian 's knees weren't exactly sturdy enough at that moment to keep them both upright. As a result, Mickey ended up flat on his back on Ian 's bed, with Ian 's body pressed to his. Mickey smiled up at him.

"You should do it," Mickey told Ian .

"Do what?" Ian asked. He told himself to pull away from Mickey , but he couldn't bring himself to do it.

"Kiss me," Mickey said. "If you want to, you should."

Ian studied Mickey , then. He'd told him to do it and he really did want to, because although Mickey smelled disgusting, he was still Mickey and he still felt really good against him and his eyes were pretty gorgeous. Ian should just take him up on his offer and kiss him.

Except Ian never kissed Mickey first. Never.

"Why don't you just kiss me?" Ian asked, quietly, his breathing faster now. Being pressed against Mickey did no good for Ian 's lungs. He felt breathless and as if he might explode.

"Because I want you to kiss me."

"Why?"

"Because you want to do it," Mickey made his excuse.

"I—"

Mickey had tugged him closer and Ian could feel Mickey 's breath warm against his face. He smelled atrocious, but somehow that didn't matter.

"Kiss?" Mickey said, simply.

Ian 's heart was beating exceptionally quickly, but he could also feel Mickey 's beating almost as quickly against his chest, so he didn't feel too embarrassed about it. Mickey 's lips seemed so close to his now and they were so shiny and his eyes were so spectacular and one little kiss couldn't hurt, could it?

Ian gave in and lowered his mouth down over Mickey 's. He felt Mickey smiling against his lips as they kissed slowly and cautiously, Mickey 's hands finding the small of Ian 's back. Ian tasted the bitter, tangy taste of Mickey 's mouth, but forgot about that when Mickey slipped his tongue past Ian 's teeth, the kiss growing more hungry now. Ian was lost, then, because Mickey 's warmth against him made him feel at ease and the rapid pace both of their hearts were beating felt comforting to him. Mickey 's hands had slipped beneath his shirt now and his fingers were kneading gently up and down his back. Ian felt strange shivers flittering up and down his spine. He shivered and Mickey pushed him gently side wards, so that he ended up above Ian .

Mickey 's hands had slipped around to Ian 's front and his fingers were on his stomach now, beneath his shirt. It was too close for comfort and Ian felt himself hardening. Then he felt Mickey 's erection against his thigh and he knew he should probably stop, but Mickey 's mouth was gliding down his jaw and placing little kisses along his neck. He found Ian 's pulse then and clamped his mouth there and Ian forgot that they weren't supposed to be doing this.

Then Mickey 's fingers were hooking inside the top of Ian 's pants and they pushed downwards until Ian was naked from the waist down. He groaned as Mickey slipped his fingers between his thighs.

"I just want you," Mickey murmured against Ian 's neck.

In one swift movement, Ian had slipped out from beneath Mickey . He pushed his pants back up and stood a little away from the bed. Mickey was staring at him in confusion. Ian 's heart was hammering in his chest and he felt far too hot and his throat was dry, but he forced words anyway.

"I can't," he told Mickey .

"W—why?"

Mickey looked sort of.. _hurt._ Ian wished he could take that look off his face, but he couldn't. He sighed and went back to sit on the edge of the bed, his erection throbbing now. He ignored it as best as he could and turned to look at Mickey , his face a mask of seriousness. Mickey was still looking at him like he didn't understand and he probably didn't, not with all that alcohol in his body.

"Mickey , look," Ian began. "You can't get drunk and use that as an excuse to hook up with me."

"I didn't—"

"You did," Ian apprised him. "When you're not drunk and you take things to a stage that you consider 'too far', you pull yourself away and you say we can't do it." This had happened a handful of times now. They hadn't done much more than making out, at least if you didn't count the night of Puck's party. Or the morning after, but other than that, kissing was the farthest they'd gone. Sure, hands had slipped and had been pulled away just as quickly as they'd landed, but that was it. "Look, I just—Mickey . I can't be used as some sort of—experiment."

"Experiment?" Mickey asked.

"Yes," Ian nodded. "I—At the beginning, I would have gladly gone all the way with you," he said and he meant it, too. He completely would have. "Because you're—well, you're sort of gorgeous," he admitted and Mickey smiled and Ian smiled, too, because if he'd learned anything in the past few months, he'd learned that Mickey 's smile was infectious. "And I didn't really— _feel_ anything, other than maybe, like, lust, or whatever." He paused and braced himself, because he wouldn't ever be able to reveal this to a sober Mickey . "But—not now. I—I can't just be used as some sort of—of experiment. I don't want to be the person you use to find out what you like, okay?"

"I don't get it," Mickey told him and he looked to be telling the truth.

Ian paused and tried to think of a better way to put it, a simpler way.

"Mickey , you have a girlfriend," Ian told him. "Yet, you and I—well. We do what we do. It's pretty obvious you're having sexuality issues and I just—You pull away when you're sober. Every time. But now, while you're drunk, you want to just do whatever. I feel like.. like I'm being used so that you can solve your sexuality problems, but you're too afraid to do that while you're sober, so you're getting drunk and coming to hook up, just so you can—I don't know," Ian stopped and rubbed his eyes for a minute. He found it incredibly hard to explain, especially with Mickey so close by and staring at him with those honey coloured eyes. "I just—I can't, okay?"

Mickey gave a small inclination of his head.

"Okay," he stated.

"Look," Ian swallowed, his throat dry. He felt awful, because even though this was how he felt, there was a possibility that that wasn't what Mickey was doing. "You can stay here, because—well, we're sort of friends, aren't we?" _Friends who just happened to feel each other up now and again._ "And I don't really want to send my—my friend out while he's in this state." _Because I like looking at you for long periods of time._

Mickey nodded and gave Ian a smile, which he returned. Mickey climbed into the bed and Ian looked down at him for a couple of heart beats of silence.

"Ian ," Mickey said, then. He looked like a little boy, all innocent and wide eyed and pretty.

"Yeah?"

"Will you sleep next to me if I promise not to touch you?"

Ian wavered then. It was probably a bad idea.

"I, um—uh, okay," he breathed. "I—I guess."

Ian climbed in next to Mickey , carefully and reached across to switch off the bedside lamp. He lay there, his body rigid for a long time, until he thought Mickey was asleep. He relaxed a bit and closed his eyes and then he felt the heat coming up beside him. Suddenly, Mickey was there, next to him, their hips touching. Mickey reached down and clasped Ian 's hand in his own. Ian forgot to breath for a moment, then tried to settle, to breathe and to get himself together.

"Goodnight, Ian ," Mickey whispered next to him.

Ian shivered and he felt the tingling all along his skin on the side Mickey was closest to. He closed his eyes and listened to Mickey 's even breaths.

"Goodnight, Mickey ," he replied, quietly.

He was in deep, now and it didn't seem as if he was going to be able to get out of it any time soon.

The scariest part was that he wasn't sure he even wanted to get out.

* * *

"I'm fully clothed," Mickey said the next morning, his body running rampant with relief. "You're—we're fully clothed."

"Correct," Ian said, smiling at Mickey through the mirror. He was in the middle of his early morning skin routine.

Mickey couldn't remember much from the night before. He sat up in Ian 's bed, his mouth tasting as if he'd eaten something well past its sell by date.

"So, we didn't do anything?" he asked, heart racing. He was afraid of the answer.

"Not really," Ian told him. "Not that you didn't try."

"I.." he trailed off, unsure of whether or not he should ask what that meant. He didn't have to, because Ian told him anyway.

"I stopped it before it went too far."

Ian had stopped it. An inexplicable surge of disappointment found its way into Mickey 's body. He wished it would go away, along with what seemed to be a permanent dreaded feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"Are you ever going to tell anyone what Karofsky did to you?" Mickey found himself asking out of the blue.

Ian looked at him through the mirror like he was crazy.

"Um, no."

"Why not?"

"I told you," Ian said, with a sigh. He didn't sound angry, just tired. "I'm against outing people, it's not what I do."

"So.. you think he's—gay?"

"You tell me," Ian shrugged, squeezing some sort of white cream into the palm of his hand.

"Why—why would I know?" Mickey asked, nervously. He wasn't sure why he felt nervous, he just did. Talking about things like this made him feel ill.

"You know him better than I do," Ian said.

"Oh," Mickey said, feeling stupid. "I don't know him that well. Not really."

"Well," Ian said. "For the record, I think he is gay. From what he was saying anyway."

Mickey nodded and pressed the back of his head to the cool headboard. His head was pounding.

Ian closed the lids of all of his bottles and tubs and then turned to look a Mickey . He eyed him for a moment, then spoke.

"Mickey ," he said, softly. "Don't you think you should admit it? To yourself, I mean? I'm not telling you to tell the entire world and its mother, but—I think you need to maybe.. try to accept it."

"Accept what?" Mickey asked, but he knew. Deep down, he knew good and well what Ian meant.

"You know," Ian said, folding his hands. "That you're—maybe not as straight as you've believed all along."

Mickey 's gaped at Ian , his eyes wide.

"I," he declared. "Am not gay, Gallagher."

"And we're back to the 'Gallagher'," Ian rolled his cerulean eyes. "Just when I thought we were making progress."

"Ian , then," Mickey said. "I'm—I'm not gay."

"Yeah," Ian said, not without sarcasm. "And you totally didn't pull my pants down last night."

Damn.

"I—I didn't.." Mickey said, astonishment plain on his face. He had, he knew he had. He simply didn't want to believe it.

"You did," Ian told him. "I'm just saying that you should admit it to yourself. It's the first step."

"I'm not—"

"Yeah, so you said," Ian said. "But your actions do sort of indicate otherwise, don't they? I don't know, Mickey , maybe you're bi, or maybe you just don't care about gender, I don't know. I just know that you ke— _we_ keep on making out and we keep on ending up in these.. intimate positions and you seem totally into it, until you remind yourself that you're not supposed to be into it. That's all I'm saying. I'm not even asking you to admit it to me, just to you."

Mickey dropped his eyes to his hands and didn't tear them away for a long time. He didn't really know what to say to that, because what if Ian was right? But he couldn't be, could he?

"I'm sorry," Ian said and Mickey looked up then. "I hate labels, I don't know why I said all that. I just—Mickey , you believe that you're straight, don't you?"

Mickey just nodded, words escaping him.

"Right," Ian said. "All I meant to say was that you might feel better if you try to accept that you're—well. Not. Either way, I didn't mean to sound like I was pushing you, or whatever. Do it in your own time. Just—do you remember what happened last night? After I stopped what we were doing?"

"Vaguely."

"And are you—using me to figure it out?"

Mickey raised his eyebrows and parted his lips.

"What? No!" he said, quickly. How could Ian think that? "I—Ian . I like how we are," he said, quietly. "I don't know why I like it, I just know that I do."

Ian gave him a smile and it reached his glittering eyes.

"But I'm not using you," he shook his head, hoping he was doing enough to convince Ian of the truth. "I promise, I'm not. Like you said, we're sort of friends. To be honest, you're the only—the only real friend I've got."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," Mickey smiled. "I don't understand any of—this, yet, but I just know that I don't want it to stop. I meant it when I said things felt right when we—when we—"

"I get it," Ian nodded and Mickey was glad, because he wasn't sure he could finish that sentence. "And you know what? You're getting there, because a couple of days ago, you probably wouldn't have admitted that to me."

Mickey grinned, but he wasn't sure if he should feel happy about that or not.

"Now, if only we could do something about your bullying tendencies."

"Ian , you know I'm sorr—"

"Mickey , I was kidding," Ian told him. "Well, mostly kidding. I don't like it, but I get it. You'll get there, I think. I must be a good influence," he teased, winking and Mickey felt his stomach leaping. It must have been because he was hungry.

"Yeah, you must be," Mickey rolled his eyes and smiled, hoping he was doing enough to conceal the stupid feelings he was currently enduring. "Are we okay?" he asked, then, seriously, because he didn't like it when they fought.

"Yeah, we're okay," Ian assured him. "You don't look convinced."

Mickey only shrugged, because he wasn't sure where they stood with regards to everything now. Ian sighed and came and sat next to him on the bed.

"Come here," he smiled and reached across. He pulled Mickey 's head gently towards his own, until their lips met and Mickey wanted nothing more than for Ian to keep on kissing him, until he didn't have to think any more. Ian pulled back then, much to Mickey 's chagrin. He smiled and Mickey 's stomach took another leap. Obviously still hungry.

"Convinced?" Ian enquired.

Mickey took a deep breath and forced out the words he wanted to say.

"Maybe," he told Ian , then he gave in to the smile dancing on the corners of his lips. "But you should convince me one more time, just for good measure."

"Asshole," Ian said, but he leaned across and captured Mickey 's mouth with his own again. This time, Mickey wrapped an arm round his waist and pulled him closer, deepening the kiss, because sometimes, when his brain told him to do things, his body ignored it and did something else, did what it wanted to do and apparently, it wanted Ian close and Mickey couldn't do anything about that, so he simply gave in.

"You know," Ian said, once they'd pulled apart a little to breathe. "I thought I had higher morals. Who would have thought I'd become the other woman?"

Mickey spluttered and pressed a single kiss to Ian 's lips again. It was pointless not doing it at this stage, they'd made out so many times and Mickey liked it, whether it had to do with the pressing need for someone to want him, or something else he didn't know and right now, he just didn't care.

"Maybe she's the other woman," he smiled against Ian 's lips, those blue eyes so dangerously close that he feared he might lose himself if he stared into them for too long.

"Yeah?" Ian asked and Mickey knew from the glint in those eyes like cyan oceans that it was more than a mere joke now.

"Yeah," he replied and he meant it, because regardless of whether he was ready to admit it to himself or not, Ian meant more to him than Quinn ever had in the entire two years they'd been dating. "But she's scary, so I'd rather she didn't know that."

"I can be scary, too, you know," Ian told him.

"Can you?" Mickey chuckled and Ian gave him a fake scowl. "I believe that, actually. Don't they always say that? That things that are beautiful have some sort of sinister side?"

Ian 's smile faded and their eyes locked and Mickey realised he'd called him beautiful. He hadn't even known himself up until that point that he considered Ian beautiful. Could another guy be beautiful? _Apparently,_ he thought as he stared into those eyes, studying the array of colour and swirls, the mingling of the blues and greens and yellows and even oranges and yes, beautiful did sort of sum him up.

"Um," Ian said, finally. "My dad's gone to the garage already. We should go eat, or something."

Mickey agreed because eating would take away those feelings in his stomach, the leaping and the hollow feeling. He was just hungry, after all and hopefully a good breakfast would solve that.

It didn't.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10:**

"I'll just add in your comment about the pedestal of infamy and then we're done with the final assignment until after the New Year," Mickey beamed at Ian from across their usual corner table in the romance section of the library. He grabbed a pen and scribbled the comment down and it was fully complete.

Ian smiled. "Yep," he said. "You won't have to see me outside school for the rest of the year!"

Mickey frowned. It was December now and he and Ian had been growing closer and Mickey felt something with him that he had never felt with anyone else in his entire life: Comfort and like he didn't have to pretend. The emptiness in the pit of his stomach was less frequent now and he'd given in to how he and Ian were around each other. He didn't like to think about the reason for them being like this, but he liked how they were and he liked Ian .

"That wasn't what I meant," he said, voice darkening. "You know I—"

"Mickey, relax," Ian chuckled, his thin eyebrows raising slightly. "I was joking."

Mickey's frown remained intact as he laid the papers down on the desk in front of him. He placed his elbows down on the table, too and looked up at Ian .

"We can still, like—hang out, right?" Mickey asked, hopefully.

Ian 's smile faded and his light blue eyes widened and studied Mickey intently. He was pale and his cheeks had flushed a pretty shade of pink and the dim lights left a sheen across his perfectly coiffed hair.

"If you want to," he shrugged his broad shoulders.

"I want to," he affirmed, with a nod of his head.

"Okay, then," Ian said, that smile returning. "Just give me a call whenever you want."

Mickey smiled, relieved.

"So, final glee club meeting of the year tomorrow," Ian said and Mickey frowned. He liked glee club well enough, he just didn't like how the other members regarded him. Most of them ignored him, some sent snarky remarks his way, some looked terrified whenever he entered the room. The only one that ever showed him any kind of kindness, other than Ian , was Mr Schuester.

"I don't think I'm going to go," Mickey sighed.

"What?" Ian asked, leaning forward. "Why not?"

"I'm thinking of quitting after sectionals," he admitted.

"You can't quit!" Ian said, voice a little more high-pitched than usual. "We need you! After sectionals comes regionals and then nationals, if we're lucky! You can't quit!"

Mickey shrugged one shoulder.

"They all kind of hate me," he said, quietly, dropping his gaze to the table.

"Stop being so—on the defence around them. Let them see this side of you," Ian smiled. "You snap at them most of the time and you sit there scowling. Of course, they feel intimidated by you. You've only been making their lives a misery for God only knows how many years."

He had a point, Mickey guessed.

"Besides, you can't not go tomorrow," Ian said, sitting back in his chair. "I'm singing tomorrow."

Mickey raised his eyes to Ian . He hadn't heard Ian sing yet and he really wanted to, for some reason.

"You are?" he asked, wonderment plain in his voice. "Really?"

"Really," Ian nodded. "Well, it's a duet. With Rachel. But still, yes, I'm singing."

Mickey nodded and began stacking the loose sheets of paper lying on the desk.

"So...?" Ian asked, giving Mickey a quizzical look.

"What?" Mickey asked, smiling a bit.

"You'll come?"

"Duh," he said. "I've been trying to make you sing for weeks! I'm not passing up this opportunity, even if Rachel is going to be standing next to you trying to out sing you and making those ridiculously passionate faces."

* * *

"Off to gay club?"

Mickey swung around and saw Karofsky standing in the empty hallway, a smirk on his face.

"No, I didn't know there was a gay club at McKinley," Mickey smiled. "When did you form one?"

"W-what?" Karofsky stammered. "I'm not—"

"What I caught you doing to I— _Gallagher_ in the janitor's closet says otherwise," Mickey stated.

Karofsky looked uncomfortable, his hands slipping into his pockets, feet shifting awkwardly. Mickey felt bad for a brief moment, until he remembered what Karofsky had done to Ian .

"You don't know what you saw! You—"

"Oh, I know what I saw, David," Mickey grinned. "I also know what Gallagher told me during English the day after."

Karofsky looked speechless and although Mickey knew exactly how it felt to be called out on how you felt, he took pleasure in the sight. Karofsky was an asshole. It was true, Mickey was an asshole, too, but Karofsky was a bigger asshole.

He looked confused, then lashed out. He sprung forward and pushed Mickey hard against the lockers. Mickey was smaller than Karofsky, but he was still strong. He pushed him off and shoved him up against the lockers on the opposite side of the corridor. Karofsky groaned and Mickey clutched him hard by the shoulders.

"I think you should apologise, David," Mickey snarled.

Karofsky lunged forward then, pushing Mickey to the ground and before Mickey could push him away, Karofsky's fist came down and collided with Mickey's left eye. Images and memories of different fists crashing into him flooded through his mind and he was suddenly very, very angry.

"You're useless to us," Karofsky was shouting as he struck another blow to the side of Mickey's face. "All you do is go around singing with those glee losers. I haven't seen you slushying a dork in _weeks_ and word on the street is you're not screwing your girlfriend."

"At least I have a girlfriend," Mickey said and swung an arm, but missed Karofsky's face.

"Useless!" Karofsky growled. "Useless, useless, _useless_!"

 _Useless._

Mickey was sick to his teeth of that stupid word. Every single person that raised a hand to him used that dreaded word. He was really mad now and he wanted to hurt someone. He took a few breaths, then shoved Karofsky hard until he shot back and Mickey was over him. He raised a clenched fist and struck Karofsky's face with it. And then he couldn't stop. His teeth were clenched and his eyes were wild and he just kept on punching until he had no energy left. He fell back against the lockers and breathed, trying to calm his temper, to get his heart to stop thumping so loudly. Karofsky muttered something along the lines of 'asshole', before getting to his feet and taking off down the halls.

Mickey stayed there for a minute, then remembered he was supposed to be at glee and Ian was singing today. He stood up, straightened his clothes and ran all the way to the choir room, hoping he wasn't too late.

* * *

"Oh my God," Ian exclaimed when Mickey walked through the choir room door, panting. He looked awful. Well, that wasn't true. Mickey seldom looked awful, but he definitely didn't look his best at that moment. His eye was swelled and the side of his jaw was bruised and his curls had sprung free once again.

"Mickey, are you okay?" Mr Schuester asked, standing up, concern plain on his face.

"I'm fine," Mickey breathed. "Can we just get on with whatever you were doing before I got here?" he asked, walking towards the seats and sitting down. He crossed his arms and frowned, everyone's eyes on him.

"Um, okay," Mr Schue said, sounding a little uncertain. "Ian , Rachel. You guys are up."

Ian wanted to go to Mickey and ask him what had happened, but he couldn't, not in front of everyone. Instead, he climbed to his feet and went to stand next to Rachel in front of the class, as she spoke about the song. She was saying all the wrong things, but Ian just let her go on.

The music started and Rachel sang first.

 _"I'll be the grapes fermented,_

 _Bottled and served with the table set in my finest suit,_

 _Like a perfect gentlemen,_

 _I'll be the fire escape that's bolted to the ancient brick,_

 _Where you will sit and contemplate your day."_

Ian kept his eyes on Mickey as Rachel sang. He still looked really mad, his eyes were staring vacantly into space and his chest was rising and falling very quickly. Ian joined in with Rachel on the next verse.

 _"I'll be the water wings that save you if you start drowning,_

 _In an open tab when your judgment's on the brink,_

 _I'll be the phonograph that plays your favorite_

 _Albums back as you're lying there drifting off to sleep,_

 _I'll be the platform shoes and undo what heredity's done to you,_

 _You won't have to strain to look into my eyes,_

 _I'll be your winter coat buttoned and zipped straight to the throat,_

 _With the collar up so you won't catch a cold."_

Mickey was looking at him now, his head tilted a little, his eyes curious and bright. His face had softened and his breathing had slowed and he looked more sad than angry now. Ian braced himself for his solo part, his heart beating manically. He could do this.

 _"I want to take you far from the cynics in this town,_

 _And kiss you on the mouth,_

 _We'll cut our bodies free from the tethers of this scene,_

 _Start a brand new colony,_

 _Where everything will change."_

He could see Mickey's interest growing now, his eyes a little wider, his lips parting, his fists unclenched. Ian had chosen this song because he needed to express how he felt. Yes, he liked Mickey as more than just what they were, which was friends, he guessed. He didn't think he would ever be able to admit that to Mickey, at least not in the near future, so he needed to get it out of his system. And if Mickey was there to witness it, all the better. He'd asked Rachel to do it with him, because he didn't think the song really suited his voice enough to sing it alone. They sounded good together.

 _"We'll give ourselves new names, identities erased,_

 _The sun will heat the grounds,_

 _Under our bare feet in this brand new colony,_

 _Everything will change."_

He finished and the music stopped and people were clapping and Mickey was clapping, too, his eyes locked on Ian . Rachel bowed and walked back to her seat. Ian followed, giving Mickey a small smile as he walked up to sit next to Mercedes.

"That was awesome," Mercedes told him.

"Thanks," he replied.

Mickey's shoulders had relaxed now and he looked a lot calmer than he had minutes before. Ian smiled, because that was his doing.

* * *

 **1 NEW MESSAGE FROM: Ian .**

 _Can I get a ride?_

Mickey texted back a quick yes and waited by his car. He'd ran out of glee club as quickly as possible, before anyone could ask any questions. He wasn't feeling as angry as he had been earlier, but he still felt stupid and weak and he wanted to punch Karofsky's lights out, but he felt better and there was a good reason for that.

 _Ian had the most wonderful voice he had ever heard in his entire life._

He turned around when he heard the school doors opening and closing and saw Ian walking towards him. He stood up straight and cursed Karofsky for the hundredth time since the fight had occurred for giving him a black eye and a bruised cheek. Even he couldn't pull that off.

"Bad day?" Ian asked, smiling sadly once he'd reached him.

"I've had worse," he shrugged and it hurt a little. "Can we go some place else?"

Ian walked forward and opened the passenger door, before climbing inside and closing it. Mickey went around his side and did the same. He drove the car out of the McKinley parking lot and drove until they had reached a park. He pulled into the small parking area and sighed as he sat back against his seat.

Ian was studying him. "Do I get to know what happened?"

"In a minute," Mickey said, before reaching across and pulling Ian 's mouth roughly down over his own. Ian gasped in protest, but when their lips met he relaxed and gave in to the kiss. Mickey kissed him for a long time, because he just needed to be close to someone for a little while.

"Are you alright?" Ian asked, softly, once they'd pulled apart.

"Do I look alright?" he snapped.

"Okay, relax," Ian said, firmly. "I thought we were past this by now."

"Sorry," Mickey murmured. "Karofsky was taunting me and we got into a bit of a fight."

"Clearly," Ian said, simply. "Does it hurt?"

"Only when I breathe," Mickey joked, but his laugh came out weakly.

Ian frowned a bit, as he studied Mickey's injuries. Mickey sighed again. Every muscle in his body ached. He needed to just go home and sleep it off.

"Did you call him out on the gay thing?"

"Maybe."

"Mickey," Ian said, with some disapproval.

Mickey sighed and explained what had happened in as much detail as he could at that moment.

"Even still," Ian said, afterwards. "He's obviously struggling."

"Screw him," Mickey groaned. "I don't care, okay? I'm sick of people calling me useless and using me as a punching bag!"

Ian was silent and his face fell.

"Mickey, I didn't me—"

"I know," he said. "I know that, okay? Can we just forget about Karofsky and talk about something else?"

Ian nodded, quickly and Mickey just wanted to kiss him just so that he would shut up and not talk about all these things he was too afraid to talk about, to even think.

"So, um, you finally got to hear me sing," Ian said, changing the subject.

Mickey sat up a little and looked at him.

"Yeah," he nodded. "I've never heard anyone sing like you," he told him, truthfully.

"In a—good way?"

"In the _best_ way," Mickey assured him. "Seriously, Rachel should just like, sit down and let you have all the solos. We would win _everything_."

Ian smiled and Mickey smiled then, too, because he liked when Ian smiled. He could discern the smile in those bright blue eyes of his and it was just refreshing to see him like this. He thought back to the sad looking boy in the schedule photo hanging from his notice board at home and decided he liked this smiling one so much better.

"You're not just saying that because you hate Rachel?" Ian enquired.

"Definitely not," he apprised him. "Hearing you sing was the best part of my day."

"I like when you're like this," Ian told him.

"Like what?"

"Not—hating me."

"I don't hate you," Mickey said. "We've already determined this."

"Liking me then," Ian corrected.

Mickey's smile grew as he sat up straight.

"We determined that, too."

"You're not, you know."

"I'm not what?" Mickey asked, crinkling his nose a little.

"Useless," Ian clarified and Mickey's heart sank. "You're not useless."

Mickey's breath had caught in his chest and he felt his throat tightening, the urge to cry nagging at him. He ignored it and leaned across and pressed his lips to Ian 's again. He still didn't know what this was, or why it was happening, or if he ever would know, but it felt good and he just didn't care sometimes. Ian was real, he was there, when no one else was and sometimes telling Ian what was on his mind just came natural and he instantly regretted it, then went back to not caring.

Mickey unlatched his mouth from Ian 's, but kept his lips brushing against his, as he whispered words shakily into his mouth.

" _I want to take you far from the cynics in this town and kiss you on the mouth."_

And then he fell back into the kiss, feeling Ian 's smile against his lips and he wished more than anything in the world that he could do just that.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11:

Mickey sighed silently at the loud noises coming from the people he sat with at lunch. He was next to Iggy, who was laughing at something Azimio was saying. Karofsky was scowling at him from across the table, which he ignored and everyone was just being unnecessarily loud. Lately, the footballers and cheerleaders he sat with were driving him crazy. He wanted to lean across and smack Iggy in the head, because he was laughing far too boisterously. He wanted to punch Karofsky again simply because he was an ass and he wanted to tell that red headed cheerleader— _what was her name again?—_ to stop playing dumb, just so that she could gain attention.

He glanced across the room at the glee table. They were talking quietly, some of them laughing. It was really amazing that the members of the one club that spent all their time singing and dancing and performing were so quiet and refined. Ian was sitting there, next to Mercedes, smiling slightly, his pale lips upturned at the corners, his luminous eyes glancing up from his lunch as Mercedes spoke. He blinked and his light lashes fluttered slowly down into the hollows beneath his eyes, then back up again.

Mickey liked to watch Ian when he didn't know he was watching him. He was absently running a thin finger along his jaw line, his elbow rested on the table. He looked like he didn't belong there, amongst the trash cans and the cleaning ladies and the pale, sickly green walls. He stood out a mile sitting there, in his white, long-sleeved shirt and his hair so perfectly styled and his skin so smooth and on the verge of transparency.

The words of the song struck Mickey not for the first time that day.

 _"I want to take you far from the cynics in this town and kiss you on the mouth."_

Regardless of what he knew he did or didn't feel when it came to Ian , he could concede that Ian didn't belong here, in this drab, narrow-minded town, full of ignoramuses and uneducated assholes. Ian had told him that first day that he was going to make something of himself and Mickey believed that now. When it came down to the cold, hard facts, Ian was better than all of them, even, Mickey had to admit, better than Mickey himself.

Ian looked up just as Mickey thought this and the feeling that he'd been caught doing something wrong struck him almost instantly, his heart leaping in his chest, mouth parting, eyes widening. But Ian simply smiled, his glistening eyes lighting up and acknowledging Mickey . Mickey returned his smile, because when Ian smiled at him, there were only two things he could do that were appropriate as a response. The first of these was to cover that smile with his lips and since they were in a crowded lunch room, not to mention at least fifteen feet apart, Mickey had to go with the second option, which was to smile back.

Kissing Ian wasn't something he really thought about any more. Actually, that was a lie. He seemed to think about it quite a bit, but he didn't think about it in the sense that it ate away at him, because it was wrong and went against everything that he was. Nowadays, it was just something that _was,_ something he just did, almost daily, because it felt good, even if it didn't make sense.

Ian looked away, glancing back only once, before turning his attention back to Mercedes.

"Hey!"

Mickey almost jumped out of his seat. Quinn slipped onto the bench next to him and followed his gaze, just as Ian glanced across, then quickly looked away. Quinn's lipglossed smile faded and she was frowning. Then she turned to look at Mickey and a grin replaced her frown.

"Guess what?" she enthused.

"Um, what?" Mickey asked, eyes falling down to study the fries on his tray. He couldn't even begin to guess.

"I'm joining glee club!"

Mickey 's entire body went rigid and his head shot up too quickly, his neck twisting and aching instantly.

"You're doing what?" Mickey spluttered.

"I'm joining glee club!" Quinn repeated, smiling sweetly.

"You—you can't join glee club," Mickey shook his head, which was already spinning. "Sectionals is next week, Quinn."

"I know!" Quinn apprised him. "I already talked to Mr Schuester and he said I can start in January! Isn't that great? Now we'll be together all the time!"

"Terrific," Mickey deadpanned. "That's just.. terrific."

* * *

"Can Quinn even sing?" Ian asked, when Mickey told him Quinn was joining glee club in January, over the phone. He was sitting cross-legged on his bed, music playing quietly from his iPod speakers in the background.

"I have no idea," Mickey replied and he sounded distressed. "I can't go anywhere without her following me, I swear."

Ian frowned. Mickey was such an idiot most of the time. He had brief non-idiot moments, but when it came to the crunch, he was the definition of an idiot.

"Why don't you tell her that?"

"Are you kidding me?" Mickey exploded and Ian could almost see him raising his arms in protest and surprise. "I can't do that! I like my kneecaps where they are, thank you very much!"

Ian rolled his eyes. Trust Mickey to over-dramatize things.

"Mickey , are you going to let her push you around forever?"

"That's the plan," Mickey muttered and Ian was rolling his eyes again.

"Are you serious?" he asked. "You really plan on spending the rest of forever heeding to her every call?"

"Do I have any other option?"

 _Yes,_ Ian thought, _yes, you do,_ but he didn't say it out loud, because that would lead to a very awkward silence, followed by a very awkward conversation and then awkward moment after awkward moment would continue to occur for the foreseeable future.

"Mickey , I don't think we—"

"Ian , sorry, I'm gonna have to go," Mickey cut him off and Ian could hear him sitting up. "My mom and dad are fighting again and.. well. I have to go, I don't know, do something, I guess."

Ian wished he knew what to say to that, but he didn't.

"Alright," he answered. "See you at school."

They said their goodbyes and hung up soon after. Ian had almost done it. He'd almost told Mickey that they couldn't do what they were doing any more, whatever it was. Quinn joining glee and hanging around Mickey all the time would drive him crazy and he wasn't sure he wanted to be part of that. Sure, he couldn't turn his feelings off in a blink of an eye, but at least if Mickey wasn't kissing him and letting little terms of endearment slip every now and then, it would be easier for him to handle it.

Ian sighed and lay back against his pillows.

He would tell him tomorrow.

* * *

"What happened to your face?"

Mickey sighed, tiredly and turned his head away from his father, although there was no point now, he'd already seen it.

"Crashed into one of the guys at football," he said, quickly.

"Really."

"Yeah," he shrugged.

"Hmm," his dad said, then he stood up and walked out of the room, without another word.

Mickey looked across at his mom on the sofa, her eyes closed, head on her shoulder. He sighed and went to the kitchen to clean the now broken plate his father had thrown at the wall. He swept the shards onto the dust pan and emptied it into the bin, before looking around at his home.

The plate wasn't the only thing in pieces.

* * *

The only time Ian got to talk to Mickey at school the next day was during English and he couldn't very well tell him with everyone around like that. He decided he would do it later. He would call him, or ask if he wanted to drive somewhere, or something. Either way, it had to be done. If he didn't do it today, he probably wouldn't consider it again for a long time and getting himself in deeper was the last thing he needed right now.

He called Mickey four times that night and four times it went straight to voice mail. Maybe he was having issues with his parents, or maybe Quinn had forced him into doing something with her. He didn't want to think just what he might be doing with her, so he went to bed early and promised himself he would put things right the next day.

* * *

 _Tap._

 _Tap._

 _Tap._

He was dreaming, his mind caught in that void between reality and the subconscious. The world was a cloud of cotton candy and mist. His chest felt constricted and his brain was protesting, his body shifting, turning away from the vexatious

 _tap_

 _tap_

 _tap._

The taps shattered the humming and buzzing in his ear drums and blood rushed in his head.

 _Tap._

 _Tap tap._

 _Tap._

 _CRASH._

He slipped from his slumber and sprung up in his bed, his eyes blinking quickly, discarding the sleep from the corners. His heart was racing and his mind felt fuzzy and he didn't know what was going on.

He sat there in unmitigated silence for a couple of heartbeats, before reaching across to check the time on his phone. He clicked a button and the screen came to life, the bright light piercing his eyes momentarily and then he settled his gaze on the numbers on the screen.

 _2.07A.M., December 15th._

He didn't have time to think before the sound from his dream was sifting through the air once again.

 _Tap._

 _Tap._

 _Tap._

Ian turned to look in the direction from which the sound was coming and his eyes rested on the two small rectangular windows at the top of his left wall.

 _Someone was knocking._

Who on earth was knocking on his window at two o' clock in the morning? His initial thought was that someone was trying to break in, to go through the basement and ransack his house.

Ian possessed many traits that likened him to a cat. For one, he was extremely flexible. Another thing was that he was also far too curious for his own good.

He climbed to his feet and went towards the window, aware of the taps still coming, but they were nowhere near as loud as the tapping sound of his heart in his ears. He gazed up at the window, in the light of the moon and stared for a long time, until he saw movement. He wasn't sure what made him do it, but he reached up and unlatched the lock and pulled the window towards him.

" _Mickey ?_ "

A set of warm, honey coloured eyes filled the small gap to the outside and Ian looked up at the other boy quizzically.

"Hi," Mickey said, sounding a little breathless.

"Mickey , it's after 2 A.M.," Ian hissed. "What are you doing? Are you drunk again?"

"No," Mickey replied and he didn't sound drunk. "Can you get dressed and come outside?"

" _What?_ "

"Please?"

Ian took a deep breath, then exhaled.

"Fine," he said, finally. "Give me 20 minutes—"

"20 minutes?" Mickey cut in. "Just put on some clothes and come outside."

"But my hair—"

"It's only me," Mickey chuckled and it struck Ian that Mickey really had no idea how much he meant to him. "Come on, I'll wait by my car and if you're not out here in 5 minutes, I'll throw more pebbles."

"Fine," Ian said, turning away. He glanced back at the window and Mickey was gone. Ian sighed and went to his closet, pulling out jeans and a shirt. It was way too late for drastic fashion decisions. Why was Mickey doing this to him?

He got dressed and looked in the mirror, his face twisting upon seeing his hair, now sticking up in tufts and flat on the side he'd slept on. Ian groaned as he took a comb and did his best with what little time he had. He sighed and laid the comb down, then snuck upstairs and out the front door, closing it slowly and quietly behind him.

Ian walked cautiously to the end of the driveway, watching his step in the dark. He saw Mickey leaning on the bonnet of his car, arms folded and feet over crossed.

"It's about time," he said, standing up straight, a broad smile on his shadowed face. He was wearing a leather jacket and his hair was unkempt. He looked like a bad influence.

"Why do you look like a criminal?" Ian enquired, though he couldn't deny the fact that Mickey looked pretty hot like this.

"I call it 'inconspicuous-but-still-flattering'," Mickey informed him.

"I call it 'trying-to-look-like-a-badass-but-failing-miserably'," Ian retorted. "Those shoes are all wrong."

Mickey chuckled as he leaned across and opened the passenger door of his car. Then he walked around to the driver's side. "Coming?"

"Where?" Ian asked.

"Live a little, Gallagher," Mickey said, grinning. Ian simply stared at him, a disapproving look on his face. "Are you coming, or am I going to have to forcibly manoeuvre you into the car?"

Ian entertained the idea and conceded it wasn't the worst thing he could think of happening. He remembered then that he was trying to get over Mickey and so, just walked forward and climbed inside the car and shut the door. Mickey climbed in, too and did the same.

"Cheer up, birthday boy," Mickey said, glancing across at a scowling Ian next to him. He turned the keys in the ignition and the car started up with a small purr and Mickey began to drive down the street.

Ian swung around to look at him.

"How did you know it was my birthday?"

"I have my ways," Mickey told him. "I'm not just a pretty face, you know."

"But, seriously," Ian said, gravely. "How did you know?"

"Relax," Mickey chuckled, turning a corner. "I told you I had Lip Ben Israel give me some of your details?" Ian nodded. "Right, well, your date of birth was on there."

"Oh," Ian said. "I tried calling you today."

"I know," Mickey told him. "I was busy."

Ian fought the urge to ask what he had been busy doing, because he didn't want to nag him like Quinn did. He also wasn't sure he wanted to know, especially if he had been 'busy' with Quinn.

"I was busy," Mickey said again. "Planning something."

"Planning something," Ian repeated, slowly.

"Do you remember that first day when we got paired for these assignments?" Mickey asked and Ian nodded, a small smile on his mouth. "And I told you that I was full of surprises?" Ian nodded, again, smile growing. "Well, now you get to see me put words in motion."

Ian smirked. "I thought I already got to see you put words in motion the night of Iggy's party."

Ian watched as Mickey 's jaw dropped and his eyes fell on Ian , filled with surprise, then his mouth relaxed and twisted into a smile, his eyes crinkling at the edges.

"Touché."

* * *

"Let me get this straight. You woke me up at 2 A.M.," Ian said, with a sort of contrived patience. "Just so that I could sit in a field with you?"

Ian glanced around at the vast stretch of land around them. They stood in the middle of a field, with only trees lining the edges, which led into forest on all ends, except for one, which opened onto an abandoned parking lot, in which Mickey 's car was now parked. It was empty and cold and the only sound for miles was the wind and the infrequent hoot of an owl in the distance.

"You know what? That is your problem," Mickey said, as he bent to his knees, then lay down so that he was flat on his back in the grass. "You are afraid to get a little dirty."

"Not true," Ian shook his head. "I—"

"Yeah, yeah, I know. The night of Iggy's party, which, apparently, I am never going to live down," Mickey said, placing his hands behind his head. "Forget about that for a minute and get down here."

"Not a chance," Ian declared. "It's filthy."

"Like I said, afraid to get a little dirty," Mickey rolled his eyes. "Which is why I came prepared."

Ian watched as Mickey climbed to his feet and began walking back to the car. Ian tried to follow, but Mickey gestured for him to wait where he was, so he did. A minute later, Mickey reappeared holding a blanket.

Ian gaped at him. This was very much out of character for Mickey , or at least it was very much out of character for public Mickey . When they were alone, he sometimes said and did things that surprised Ian , but this was a little far out.

"You.."

"Told you I was busy planning stuff," Mickey smiled, happily, as he spread the blanket down on the grass. He lay back down and patted the blanket for Ian to lay down beside him.

Ian stood for another moment, then shook his head and climbed down to sit next to Mickey .

"So, what's this all about?" Ian asked, looking down at the other boy, who was still smiling, the bright stars reflected in his darker eyes.

"It's your birthday," Mickey provided. Ian looked at him questioningly. "What?"

"It's just.. I wasn't expecting this."

"Duh," Mickey said. "That's the whole point of a surprise."

Ian smiled a little, studying Mickey , his face all shadows and contours in the light of the moon. He looked so peaceful lying there. It was the first time since Ian had met him that he looked truly happy.

"Come on, lie down and look up," Mickey said, reaching across and tugging on Ian 's sleeve. He gave in and lay down next to him and looked up at the velvet sky. Clusters of silver stars were spread over the entire space. The moon was high in the sky, it's glow covering the entire landscape below. It was bright and prominent and the entire sight made Ian feel small and unimportant in comparison.

"I come here sometimes," Mickey said, quietly. "Just to get away."

Ian said nothing, because there's not a lot a person can say to that.

"It puts everything in perspective, doesn't it?" Mickey continued. "I mean, I look up at all of that and I realise everything I consider vital in the world just— _isn't_. I forget that when I step back into reality, but that's why I like to come here. Because it makes me feel like I can just let go and understand who I am and what I should be doing and just—I don't know. It feels right when I'm here. Is that stupid?"

"Not at all," Ian assured him. "You come here on your own?"

"Yeah."

"Mickey , that's so dangerous," Ian shook his head, his eyes still locked on the sky, the stars' luminosity causing his vision to blur a little. "This is the perfect place to commit a murder."

"Way to ruin my sensitive moment, Gallagher," Mickey joked, sitting up. Ian sat up, too and smiled.

"Sorry."

Mickey sighed, happily.

"Don't you feel like you could do anything here?"

"Like commit a murder?"

Mickey snorted and rolled his eyes, the moon reflected in them, bringing out the flecks of orange.

"I'm serious, though," he said. "I feel like I'm not afraid of anything, right now."

"Is that a huge contrast from how you usually feel?" Ian asked, curiously.

"Maybe," Mickey shrugged, head tilted back, eyes raised to the sky.

Ian studied him sitting there, a sad smile on his lips, his eyes literally twinkling in the light of the celestial beings above. Mickey caught him staring when he dropped his gaze. He locked his eyes on Ian 's and smiled at him. A few seconds passed and Mickey shifted his body and leaned his head closer to Ian 's. He didn't do anything for a long time, then closed the space between their lips and kissed him softly. There was no tongue, no hunger, it was just sweet and calm, like it was all he needed, just to feel close to someone.

"What are you so afraid of?" Ian whispered, once they'd pulled apart. Mickey stared at him, his eyes dilated and a shade darker now. His lips were parted and his breath was coming faster, emitting small, white, cloudy puffs of air in the cool night.

"Myself," Mickey uttered, finally and his lips found Ian 's again. His hand rested gently on the side of Ian 's jaw. It was trembling a little and Ian 's skin was tingling at the contact. Ian opened his eyes and looked at Mickey , whose eyes were closed. He was murmuring against his lips and Ian 's blood was humming in his veins and all he wanted to do was to stay like this for as long as humanly possible. He couldn't tell him they weren't doing this any more, not now. He couldn't and he wouldn't and God, he didn't want to.

The pulled away again and Mickey smiled shyly, his face flushed, a sheen of the moon's light all across one side of his face. Ian smiled, too.

"I almost forgot," Mickey cleared his throat and reached inside his jacket. Ian watched him with inquisitive eyes as he produced a small box. He turned back to Ian , his eyes darting around a little.

"This might be the most cheesy thing I've ever done in my entire existence," Mickey laughed a little. "But I just thought—it just felt right, okay? Here."

Ian took the box from Mickey 's shaking hands, their fingers brushing in the exchange. Ian 's heart was beating unusually fast as he tore the striped paper off slowly and carefully. He lifted the lid and stared down into the red tissue paper. A small, rectangular silver plate lay in the middle, with a thin chain extending from either end, disappearing into the red crumpled paper beneath.

Ian took it gently between his fingers, aware of Mickey 's nervous gaze on him and held it up in the light. There were words on the small plate, etched in cursive writing.

 _"I want to take you far from the cynics in this town_

 _and kiss you on the mouth."_

Ian 's heart stilled in his chest and he raised his ice blue eyes to Mickey , speechless.

"I.. I know it's p-probably tacky a-and stupid and not, like, what you would usually wear, because y-you're so, you know, _you,_ " Mickey said, stammering. "But I didn't want t-to get you nothing and the words have been just playing on m-my mind and it just.. I had to do it."

"Mickey , it's.." Ian trailed off, shaking his head, words escaping him.

"It's okay," Mickey said, quickly. "It's perfectly fine if you don't want it, I didn't think you would anyway, I just sort of wanted to, because—"

"Mickey ," Ian said, firmly. "Stop. Stop. It's.. It's _perfect._ Thank you."

Mickey 's face was frozen and his eyes were wide, but Ian could see he was relieved from the way he allowed his shoulders to slump.

"Y—You like it?"

"How could I not?" he said, smiling and Mickey smiled, too, then. "Thank you," Ian said, again. He leaned across to kiss him again and Mickey let him, a small gasp escaping his lips.

Mickey was the most unpredictable person Ian had ever met. He was an idiot, that was irrefutable, but when he was like this, Ian just wasn't sure. Yeah, he still wasn't acting as he wanted him to in school and stuff, but this Mickey sort of made up for that. Ian felt stupid for feeling what he did, but he couldn't help it. This was real and maybe Mickey couldn't give him everything, but for now, it felt right and it felt enough.

"I don't get you," Ian told him, once they'd broken away.

"Makes two of us," Mickey laughed half-heartedly. "Here," he said, reaching across to grab the bracelet out of Ian 's lap. Ian held out a hand and Mickey closed the bracelet around his thin wrist. They both looked down at it for a long time, then Mickey raised his hazel eyes to Ian 's blue-green ones.

"I don't know what this is—us, I mean, but I... Like I said, I feel like I can do anything when I'm here," Mickey told him, his voice low. "I just—I know how I feel when I'm here, Ian and.. I don't know. I can't say it, not out loud, because of everything that would mean, but I just wanted you to know that—I've never brought anyone else here before. Do you know what I'm saying?"

Mickey was gazing at him with those eyes of his and Ian was trying to keep his head together. He guessed he sort of knew what Mickey was saying. It was confusing and he was speaking in riddles, but he understood that he meant something to him at least.

Ian only nodded.

"And that," Mickey pointed down at the bracelet on Ian 's pale wrist. "That doesn't have to mean anything if you don't want it to."

"What if I do?" Ian asked, boldly, heart racing again.

Mickey eyed him for a while, then smiled a little bit, just the very corners of his mouth tilting upwards an inch.

"Well, in that case," he said. "It means something."

And Ian 's heart stopped and Mickey 's mouth was on his again and he knew there were so many things wrong and that they would go back to the strained friendship they had before, but he just couldn't bring himself to care at that moment. It was his birthday and he would have his fun for this one day, out of the entire year. This was his day.

"I should get you home," Mickey said, looking down at his watch.

"Yeah," Ian sighed, not wanting to move from where they sat. Mickey stood first and offered Ian a hand. He took it, gingerly, then felt Mickey 's warm fingers entwining with his own. They gathered up the blanket and walked back to the car, hand in hand.

"This is so weird," Mickey whispered, but made no attempts to break away.

"Maybe," Ian told him, as he opened the trunk to throw the blanket in. "Why are your clothes in here?"

"Mom and dad had another fight," Mickey frowned. "I'm not going home, so I brought those with me for school tomorrow."

Ian looked at him funnily. He was serious.

"Where are you going to go?"

"I was thinking about coming back here and waiting until morning," he shrugged one shoulder.

Ian swung around to face him, their hands still clasped.

"You can't stay here all night," he informed him.

"I've done it before—"

"That was before you met a very fashionable, talented sucker who would offer to take you in for the night," Ian smiled.

Mickey smiled a little, too.

"You don't have to."

"Yes," Ian told him. "I do. I couldn't live with myself if I knew you'd gotten murdered out here. And on my birthday, too."

"I won't get murdered, Gallagher," Mickey grinned from ear to ear.

"Even still," Ian said, squeezing Mickey 's hand, gently. "You're coming home with me."

"And this isn't just because you think this will be a repeat of the night of Iggy's party?" Mickey smirked.

"Ha-ha, yeah, _you wish_ , Milkovich," Ian snorted. "Come on, let's go."

They broke hands reluctantly and climbed in the car and drove back out onto the roads. It was unusual and felt strange and neither of them understood it. The only thing they did know, was that it felt right and neither of them wanted it to end.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12:**

The lights were on full blast and Ian was walking around his room, flinging random items of clothing, which he had obviously thrown around to look for something to wear after Mickey had woken him up, into his closet. Mickey lay stomach down on Ian's bed, his head resting in his hands, elbows leaning into the bed, watching him with some intent.

Ian's movements were like fluid. He moved with a kind of grace that Mickey had never seen anyone else move with. It reminded Mickey of the way the trees danced to-and-fro in the light breeze, so gentle and docile, but still strong and grounded.

Also, Ian was wearing really tight pants again. They left so little to the imagination in the rear area and Mickey felt a little dazed as he watched him drifting across the room, his hips twisting, his entire backside defined by the thin layer of tight, tight material that covered it.

"You should stop cleaning and come over here," Mickey told Ian, his eyes caressing the soft curve of Ian's hips, the slant of his back and where it fell down into the swell of his taut, round—

"What?" Ian said, knocking him from his reverie, but Mickey didn't drop his gaze. "Sorry, I didn't hear you."

"I said," Mickey said sitting up and crossing his legs, because he did not want Ian to see what was happening in his nether regions. "Stop cleaning and come here."

Ian stopped still and turned to face him. Mickey frowned because it was as if he had been denied access to viewing Ian's ass. He shouldn't have been as interested as he was, but tonight he was giving in to himself, just for this one night.

Mickey's day had gone pretty badly. After school, he had gone home and his parents were fighting again. It was nothing new, really, but his mom was crying and his dad was shouting and the intensity of it all had sent him flying over the edge. His father had threatened so many things in the past, but it had seemed as if he had finally snapped, because Mickey had had to wrestle him away from the cabinets where they kept the kitchen knives. He knew, deep down, that his father wouldn't really do anything with them, but the entire situation had been so frantic and frightening that he just could not risk it.

It had rattled him to the core. His body had shook, his head ached and he fought the urge to cry. His dad looked deranged, sitting there on the couch looking angered one minute and jumping up out of his seat and racing into the kitchen, shouting numerous threats the next.

It had probably been the worst day of his entire life.

His dad had left the house, slamming the door, sending a large tremor through the hallway and all through Mickey. Mickey made sure his mother had taken her medication, before placing her in bed, then he left the house, angry, confused and scared. He had had enough. He was tired of fighting, tired of pretending, tired of everything.

And that was what had made him do what he did for Ian. He had planned on simply calling him that night, wishing him a happy birthday and leaving it at that, but he felt like he needed to do more, because Ian deserved more.

The entire charade at home had left him far too tired to keep his guard up. He just wanted to let go for a while, so he'd gone to the mall and picked out the bracelet and had it engraved and then he'd driven aimlessly for a while, trying to plan out what he would do. When he had decided, he'd gone home to check on his mom. There was a voice message on the machine from his dad, saying he wouldn't be home tonight, which made Mickey feel better about leaving his mother alone. Then he'd waited it out and packed his things into the car and gone over to Ian's.

"But I'm almost done," Ian told him, his hands resting gently on those hips of his.

"Come _on,_ Ian," Mickey said, careful to use his first name. "I don't care what your room looks like, I just want you to stop pacing back and forth like a father expecting his first born."

It wasn't that it wasn't a pretty sight, Mickey just wanted to touch him with his hands instead of watching him with his eyes.

"Fine," Ian muttered, closing his closet door. He switched out the light, leaving them almost in complete darkness. The light of the moon slipped in the small windows and a small lamp was still lit in the corner. Ian walked back across the room, then his eyes found Mickey's and he smirked. "Were you just checking out my ass?"

He was busted once again.

"Hard not to when you're walking around like that," Mickey admitted, smirking, too. "How on earth do you get into those things?"

"It takes extreme skill," Ian gave him a wink, then continued walking towards the bed. Mickey's hand shot out before he could stop himself and he was pulling Ian back by the belt loop of his pants. Ian made a small gasping sound as Mickey pulled him down to kneel next to him on the bed. "What are you doing?"

"Getting a closer look," Mickey told him and he saw Ian frown and then smile in the space of two seconds.

"I am strictly 'look but don't touch', Milkovich," Ian informed him, nose in the air. "So don't even think about i—ahh!"

Mickey had tugged Ian by the arm so that he fell forward. he caught his lips with his and pulled him down on top of him. Ian didn't protest, he simply kissed him back and Mickey wished he could do this forever, just kiss Ian and not have to worry about the consequences, or what it meant, or what people would think. He just wanted to kiss him and let himself go for a little while.

Somehow, Mickey's hands had subconsciously crawled down Ian's back and found the swell of his backside. He could feel the outline of Ian's underwear beneath them, his fingers moving slowly back and forth across the lines and the creases and the parting in the middle and _God_ , those were some sinful sounds escaping Ian's mouth every time Mickey brought a finger slowly along the line where the crack of his ass was situated. He did it again and again, just so that he could make Ian emit that sound again.

Mickey's mouth felt tired, but he didn't want to stop kissing Ian, because every time they stopped, they seemed to look at each other with a smile, which would soon fade to a frown, as they both realised that this was a mistake and that it wasn't supposed to be. It never felt like a mistake, at least not any more and as for meant to be..

Mickey's right hand had slid around the front of Ian's pants and was unclasping the button at the top. Ian was making no attempts to pull away and Mickey just wanted to feel Ian's bare skin beneath his touch. He felt dizzy and giddy and he just couldn't pull back, couldn't bring himself to stop doing this. He wanted it and he wasn't going to fight himself, not this time. He would deal with the consequences when he crossed that bridge later.

He pushed the tight fitted pants downwards and Ian's hips were grinding lightly against his own and _oh,_ Ian was semi-hard and Mickey was, too and the friction was perfect and he needed more, he wasn't sure how much more, he just knew that he did.

Mickey's hands slid Ian's briefs down, they followed the same route as the pants and then Mickey pushed them past Ian's ankles and they fell to the carpeted floor. Mickey hands quickly found their way back on to Ian's back side and his fingers repeated the same patterns he had made when the pants had been in place. Now Ian was really making some sinful sounds. Sinful didn't even begin to explain it.

"Mickey," Ian breathed against Mickey's lips. "Mickey, _please._ "

"What?" Mickey asked, voice unsteady. "What do you want me to do?"

Ian arched his back, his ass pushing against Mickey's hands and Mickey was confused for a moment, until he felt Ian pushing himself against his finger and _wow,_ suddenly the idea of his fingers inside Ian was very appealing indeed.

"Oh," Mickey panted. "Oh, okay. I've never.. I mean.." he trailed off.

"I know," Ian told him, leaning away. Mickey sat up in protest, but Ian had only leaned across to the side table. He came back, his body falling against Mickey's again, sending small electric shocks all through Mickey's body and handed him a small bottle.

Mickey contorted his face in confusion, then it dawned on him. _That was lube._

"Oh," he said, again, feeling stupid, but Ian didn't seem to notice. Mickey took the bottle from him, hands shaking.

"You don't have to," Ian reminded him.

"I want to," he said and he really did want to, more than anything else at that moment.

"Mickey," Ian whispered, lips close to his again. "Do you think you could.. maybe lose the shirt, or something? Just so that I don't feel too.. exposed, or.. or whatever?"

Mickey didn't think twice, he simply raised himself upwards and tugged the shirt off over his head, before flinging it away into the darkness. Mickey sat back and uncapped the bottle. His heart was beating wildly as he turned the bottle upside down and pressed a small blob onto his finger.

"You don't have to," Ian said, again.

"I want to," Mickey repeated. "I just—I need your help. I've never done anything like—like this."

Ian gave a small nod and Mickey lowered his hand, his eyes never leaving Ian's. Ian's blue eyes were a shade darker in the light of the small lamp. Mickey felt Ian's hips shifting, his legs on either side of Mickey's own hips and he realised Ian was spreading himself for his hand.

"Oh, God," Mickey exhaled, as he pressed the tip of his first finger to Ian's opening.

"You're sure about this?" Ian asked in a strangled voice.

Mickey didn't want these doubts in his mind. He just wanted to do whatever he felt like doing. He gave Ian a nod and concentrated on pushing his finger past the first ring of muscle. It felt strange and good and all these things he couldn't explain.

Ian was letting out little moans and grunts as Mickey watched him in awe, his finger still pushing through. Ian's expression was one of rapt and his eyes were shut tight, pale lashes fluttering a little, his lips parted, small sounds escaping them.

"Can I try a second or is this..?"

"Yes," Ian hissed. "Please. Yes."

He used the lube again and worked in a second finger. This was all so new. Ian talked him through it, telling him to scissor his fingers and to crook them here and bend them there and when Mickey crooked, Ian tightened and he let out this sound that made Mickey want to drop to his knees and laugh or cry or scream or do something crazy, because this was really happening and he'd be damned if he said he didn't like it.

Mickey didn't want to cry, or do anything dumb, so he caught Ian's open mouth with his own and sucked his swelled bottom lip. Ian was panting against Mickey's mouth and Mickey was still moving and Ian looked and felt and sounded amazing and Mickey was losing it, his own erection straining inside his pants.

"Ian," Mickey found himself saying. "I want you. I just— _I want you_."

Ian froze and pulled back from Mickey's mouth, his dilated eyes bright and studious and Mickey was breathing too quickly and everything felt like a blur, yet very real at the same time.

"Wh-what do you want?" Ian asked, in a hushed tone.

"You," Mickey told him. "Please Ian."

Ian gasped as Mickey raised his hips and ground himself against his. Mickey slipped his fingers out of Ian's body and Ian sat back on his knees and raised his own shirt, now sticking to his body, over his head. He was completely naked now and Mickey could only stare up at him, open mouthed. Ian was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen and there was no point in denying it. The light of the moon cascaded across his already pale skin, casting a luminous glow down his chest and across his legs and God, Mickey couldn't remember the last time he had felt so turned on.

Ian's hands were fumbling with Mickey's jeans and it took him a few minutes to get them off entirely. He slid his underwear off, then, too and Mickey felt exposed and as if a weight had been lifted off. It was strange and wonderful and painful and beautiful and scary and gorgeous and all of these words that suddenly had little meaning because Ian's light touch was surrounding his throbbing cock. Mickey gasped and then whined and Ian's movements were coming harder and faster and Mickey just needed him, all of him, in every single way possible.

Suddenly, all Mickey could think about was Ian inside him, Ian moving above him, Ian pushing himself back and forth, in and out of the shadows, into the light and back out again.

"Ian, please," he said, not for the first time that day. "I need you. _Want you_."

"What.. what do you want?" Ian asked again. "You have to.. just tell me. I don't know what you want."

"You," Mickey hissed into Ian's ear. "I want _you_."

Ian seemed to figure out exactly what Mickey meant by that, because he went still.

"Are—you're sure?"

"Never been more sure about anything," Mickey affirmed. " _Please._ "

Ian watched him, that ice blue gaze sweeping over him and Mickey shuddered. Then Ian finally spoke.

"Okay."

* * *

Ian's fingers were working their way back and forth, in and out of Mickey's tight opening. They were moving easily, now, the lube doing its job. Ian watched Mickey fucking himself down on his fingers in what could only be described as amazement. He could hardly believe this was really happening and everything felt sort of like a dream.

There were no real words to describe just how Mickey Milkovich looked writhing beneath him on his bed, with Ian's fingers sliding in and out of him. Ian tried to think, but words escaped him and what few words that he could think of seemed senseless and meaningless and who even needed words when things like this were possible?

Mickey's head was thrown back, his eyes half-lidded, those dark lashes shivering with his every movement. His chest was rising and falling quickly and his lips were parted and his hands were gripping the material of the bedclothes beneath them.

"I-I'm ready," Mickey choked out after a while. "Please, Ian. God, I'm ready."

Ian's heart was hammering in his chest at the thought of what was about to happen. He was going to push himself inside of Mickey Milkovich. The idea made him want to laugh, or maybe cry, because he really, really wanted this and yes, maybe that was crazy and naive of him, but it wasn't as if he could help it, especially not when Mickey looked like he did.

Ian retracted his fingers and Mickey cried out at the loss of contact. Ian rolled the condom on, then took the lube again and coated it over his twitching cock, some of it dropping onto his thighs like a frozen kiss hitting his skin. He spread it over his length, then moved to line himself up with Mickey's stretched opening. He took a deep breath, looked down into Mickey's honey coloured eyes. They were glazed and wide and he gave a small nod. Ian took this as a signal to move forward, so he did, very slowly, almost painfully so. He kept moving, until Mickey cried out in protest.

"Sorry," Ian muttered, his body aching. He just needed to tilt his hips and he would be all the way in. It was frustrating, he didn't want to push him, didn't want to hurt him, but God, he looked so.. so— _hot._ Yes, he couldn't deny it, Mickey Milkovich was the hottest thing he had ever encountered and if he didn't—

Mickey pushed himself forward and Ian was suddenly buried deep inside him.

" _Jesus,_ Mickey _,"_ Ian said, his voice coming out guttural. "Warn a guy."

Mickey was groaning quietly, his head thrown further back now, his eyes shut tightly. Ian looked down at him in concern, his length still throbbing painfully.

"Are you okay? How do you feel?" Ian asked, swallowing hard. Mickey looked more perfect than anything he had ever seen in his entire life. Ian knew he was being stupid, allowing this to happen, allowing himself to do this with Mickey, because tomorrow, things would be go back to being the same, maybe worse. But he couldn't say no, not when Mickey looked like he did and not when those words, pleading and begging and so needy were escaping his swelled mouth. Ian had given in without so much as a second thought.

He was waiting, waiting for him to settle and get used to the feeling and Ian just needed him to give him the go ahead because the tightness and the warmth of Mickey around was enough to send even the most patient of guys over the edge.

"I—full. Like, really full, but—yeah," Mickey nodded, eyes shutting tightly and then opening again. "I'm okay, just—don't move, okay?"

Ian nodded, mentally groaning. Mickey was all shadows in the light of the moon and the glowing lamp light and Ian couldn't take his eyes off of him. Mickey's eyes weren't bright, they were dark and filled with something Ian couldn't quite place. They were shining in the opalescent light and Ian thought again that he had never seen anybody look more beautiful.

"Okay," Mickey said, soon after. "Can we go like—really slowly?"

"Definitely," Ian nodded and eased himself backwards. Mickey held his breath, until Ian slid back in. They repeated this for a long time, until Ian was moving more freely and Mickey wasn't protesting as much and he didn't feel like he was putting him through too much torture any more. Ian moved then, harder and faster and Mickey was thrusting his hips forward to meet Ian and soon they had found a rhythm and their mouths were emitting these sounds that could have passed for both pleasure and pain, their moans mingling and Ian felt dizzy and the world was spinning and his mind and heart and the blood in his veins were racing and he could feel the climax building and building and building and God, he was so, so close.

Mickey's hand reached down to grasp his own hard cock, now resting against his stomach and Ian could only stare as he moved his hand back and forth with an almost practiced ease and in the midst of everything, Ian wondered if Mickey had ever done this and imagined Ian above him, or below him, or just anywhere near him really, because all that mattered to Ian was that he even thought of him at all.

He knew Mickey was close then when his hips started to move more quickly, jerking randomly every few moments and his legs tightened around Ian's waist. Ian was close, too, his stomach clenching and unclenching and just looking down at Mickey was pushing him closer and closer to that point. Every time Ian inched forward and hit that spot, Mickey whined almost distressingly and it made Ian crazy, just to hear him making those sounds and it made him even crazier when he reminded himself that he was making those sounds because of _him._

Mickey came first, with a groan that sounded suspiciously like Ian's name and he was shooting white streams all up his own chest and on Ian's, too and the sight of this brought Ian almost instantly into full orgasm. He felt the world whitening around the edges, his mind going fuzzy, his blood running like electricity through his veins and he was coming, his hips plunging back and forth rapidly and Mickey was crying out and Ian heard Mickey's name being called, before realising he had been the one to call it and then their movements had slowed and they were breathing heavily, the heat between their bodies almost stifling.

Ian eased himself out of Mickey, who looked worn out, his eyes closed, the lick of moonlight caressing his milky eyelids and those long, thick lashes. Ian grabbed a handful of tissues from his side table and cleaned both of them off, before wrapping the used condom in the tissue and flinging it across the room towards the bin. He couldn't find the strength to stand and make sure it had made it.

"Are you okay?" Ian asked again, laying down next to Mickey, his body tired.

"I'm okay," Mickey replied, breathlessly. "I'm okay."

* * *

Mickey felt the brisk cold against his skin and he snapped his eyes open. He sat up in the dark, the lamp no longer lighting (he thought Ian must have turned it off) and the light slipping through the windows was brighter now than it had been earlier.

Mickey tilted his head to the side to look at Ian sleeping there, next to him, both of them naked and very white in the light of the moon, both laying over the covers. Mickey was freezing and figured Ian must be, too, so he reached around him and tried to pull the covers so that they both ended up underneath.

Ian woke suddenly, his eyes blinking frantically open.

"Sorry," Mickey muttered, pulling the covers around them.

He lay back and breathed, his mind recalling everything that had gone on just hours before. Panic was setting in now and Mickey sat up, eyes wide.

"Shit," he muttered. "I can't believe—we—I mean.."

"Mickey?" Ian sat up, too, eyes filled with concern.

"We—we had—"

"Sex, yeah," Ian said and even he sounded a little stunned.

"That wasn't supposed to hap—I mean. I don't know what I mean." It was strange. Regret wasn't the right word. He wasn't sure he regretted it, as such. He simply wasn't sure why or how it had happened. Mickey's heart was thumping against his ribcage in time with the small, short breaths escaping his mouth. This was bad, really, really bad.

"Why didn't you say you didn't want it?" Ian asked and Mickey detected something in his voice. _Hurt_ , he thought. "I asked you and you said you were sure. If you weren't sure you should have—"

"I know," Mickey said and he did know. He should have said no. Why hadn't he said no? "God, this is a mess. How do we fix this? What am I saying? We can't fix this. It—Oh, God."

Ian sighed and looked down at his hands and Mickey was too afraid and shocked, but he still wanted to tell him to look up and not look so beat up about it all. He had a feeling Ian was upset for different reasons. Mickey shifted a little and the burning pain shot through him.

" _Fuck_ ," he hissed. "Oh, God. I just realised I lost my virginity. _Again_."

"Me, too," Ian said, quietly. "But for the first time."

Mickey turned his head to look at him. Suddenly things seemed a million times worse.

"I—I took your virginity?" Mickey asked, softly and Ian nodded, his gaze locked on his hands still. Mickey looked down at Ian's hands, too, the bracelet he had given him resting softly on Ian's small wrist. "I'm a horrible person," he realised.

Ian didn't object, or say anything in response at all.

"Ian," Mickey moved to face him, ignoring the discomfort as best as he could. "I'm sorry. This—I mean, losing.. _it_ is supposed to mean something, right? I mean, for me it didn't, but for you. It's supposed to, isn't it?"

Ian only shrugged. Ian deserved better than this, deserved all the good things in the world.

"I'm sorry I freaked out," Mickey told him, truthfully. He felt awful. "And it's your birthday, too."

Ian still remained silent, so Mickey went on.

"You lost your virginity on your birthday and I reacted like an idiot," Mickey shook his head. "I'm sorry, I didn't think. I shouldn't have said all that, I—"

"All you had to do was say no," Ian said. "If you didn't want to, you should have just said no."

"Except I did want it, didn't I?" Mickey said, feeling a little ill, because it was true. "Clearly. I mean, I sort of asked you to.."

"Begged feels like a more accurate word."

"Did you want to?" Mickey asked, curiously.

"If I hadn't, I wouldn't have done it."

"Me, too, I guess," Mickey said, thoughtfully. "I didn't know you were a virgin beforehand. I wouldn't have panicked so much, I would have—I don't know. I just don't want you to feel bad about it, because it's supposed to be, like, you know—um, special, or whatever. Plus, it's your birthday. I just—I'm sorry I overreacted."

"It's okay."

"It's not," Mickey declared. "I feel horrible now."

"Mickey, it's okay—"

"Come here," Mickey pressed his hands into the sheets and found Ian's lips with his own and he could not shake the feeling that something had finally clicked. He wasn't sure what, but something was different now, within him, though he couldn't have said what.

"If you had it back," Ian asked, in a whisper, his breath warm against Mickey's lips. "Would you have said no?"

Mickey thought about it for a long time, working everything out in his head, before answering, truthfully and from the bottom of his heart.

"No," he said. "I would have done exactly the same thing."

He lay back down and gestured for Ian to do the same. He did and they lay facing each other. Ian's face was so pale and smooth and the moon light was very flattering on him. Mickey smiled and moved in closer, until all that was left to do was to place an arm around Ian's waist and pull him close to him. He did so cautiously and Ian smiled at him, the smile evident in his cyan blue gaze and Mickey thought to himself that he would wrap his arms around Ian time and time again, if only it meant that he would continue to smile at him like that.

* * *

Mickey's fingers flitted across the smooth, pale skin stretched over the bones of Ian's back. His back was unblemished, flawless and ashen, like cream, as Mickey ran his hand gently across the sharp peaks of his shoulder blades. His back was rising and falling evenly, as he breathed in his sleep, his body humming a little, small snoring sounds slipping from his mouth.

Ian was lying on his stomach, his head turned sideways, facing Mickey and he could not tear his gaze from him. No one else in the world was like Ian, nobody.

Mickey's fingers continued to dance across the other boy's pale skin, lightly kissing it with his finger tips. Ian opened his eyes, slowly, his light coloured lashes fluttering as he blinked himself awake. There was something about the way that Ian blinked that just did something to Mickey. It was a stupid little detail, probably a creepy thing to notice, but when Ian blinked he did it slowly and almost in slow motion, it was as if when he closed his eyes he had a million and one secrets hidden behind those wan lids, secrets no one could see, secrets that would never slip out because he blinked so slowly and carefully that they couldn't get past his watchful gaze. It was ridiculous, but it was as if he blinked with the same grace that his body moved when he walked.

"Hi," Mickey whispered.

Mickey saw the realisation spill onto Ian's face, his mouth, which had been in a neutral position, developed into a frown, his eyes saddened and he shifted his body away from Mickey's touch. Mickey gave him a perplexed look.

"Don't pretend like it's okay just to make me feel better," Ian said, shaking his head adamantly and sitting up straight. He pulled the covers up covering his unflawed chest.

"Ian, I—"

"Go ahead and freak out," Ian said. "I can see the panic in your eyes, Mickey, so just get it over with, so we can add it to the ever-growing list of bad things that keep on happening between us."

"But Ian—"

"Also, this," Ian said and he unclasped the bracelet from around his wrist and dropped in on top of Mickey's covered legs. It spilled down into a silver pile. "You should take this back and—I don't know, give it to your _girlfriend._ "

Ian flung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up. His legs wobbled a little and then he crossed the room and produced a pair of briefs from his drawer and pulled them on. Mickey sat up.

"Ian, I—"

"Don't want to hear it," Ian said, now holding a pile of clothes and walking inside the bathroom. He closed the door with a slam.

Mickey sat there for another few moments, thinking, twisting the silver bracelet between his fingers. He needed to put Ian straight, tell him how it really was. If he could just get him to listen to him.

* * *

Ian opened the bathroom door after standing there taking deep breaths for ten minutes. He walked out and Mickey was sitting on the edge of his now made bed, wearing just his jeans. Ian turned his gaze away from him and he heard Mickey sigh. Ian walked past him, rolling his blue eyes. Mickey stood up and followed him.

"Ian—"

"Don't," Ian warned, as Mickey's hand came down on his shoulder.

"Can you just listen to me for a minute?" Mickey asked, sighing again. Ian shrugged him off and started rooting around his room, looking for nothing in particular, but he needed to look busy. "Ian, just—I—look, don't be like this."

"Don't be like what, Mickey?" Ian snapped, moving bottles and containers around on his dresser. "Don't get mad because you change like the weather? Don't act like I made the biggest mistake of my life last night?"

"Don't say that," Mickey whispered.

"Why not?" Ian said. "That's what it was, wasn't it? A mistake? Like every single thing that happens between us? All one big mistake."

"No," Mickey said. "No. Maybe at first it was a mistake, when we started—well. Whatever this is. But not last night," Mickey went on and Ian stopped shuffling through his things. He stood still, facing the wall. "Last night wasn't a mistake."

Ian was stuck to the spot. His insides were whirling and he felt dizzy.

"What was it then?" he asked, quietly.

He felt Mickey's hands coming down on his arms, gently and he turned him to face him.

"I wanted it," Mickey told him. "I wanted _you._ "

Ian stayed silent, a lump forming in his throat. He wouldn't cry, he would not cry.

"I know I panicked a little bit afterwards," Mickey continued speaking, his hands pinning Ian's arms to his sides. "But sometimes—most of the time—I don't understand why these things are happening and I—I'm _scared._ But I meant what I said last night," Mickey gave Ian an encouraging nod, his honey hazel eyes wide and locked with Ian's blue-green ones. "If I had it back, I would still do it, because—because it—I.. I liked it. You. I like you. I can't say what that means, partially because I don't know and partially because I—well, like I said, I'm scared. And I don't know what it means now, but I promise you I don't consider it a mistake or-or a regret, or whatever. I knew exactly what was happening, no excuses."

Ian let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding and he felt the tears welling in his eyes. He wasn't teary eyed because he was weak, he was teary eyed because he'd lost his virginity last night and he'd thought Mickey was going to shrug it off, act like it was nothing, a mistake and when Mickey had reacted the way that he had the night before, Ian felt like he had been humiliated, but now..

"Here," Mickey said, reaching down and taking Ian's hand in his. He slipped his other hand into his pocket and pulled out the bracelet. He wrapped it around Ian's wrist again and slipped the clasp shut. "I could never give this to Quinn. It's yours."

"B-but she's your girlfriend," Ian said, voice breaking.

"She doesn't really mean anything to me," Mickey shrugged.

Ian sniffed and laughed a little.

"That's horrible," he said and Mickey smiled, his hand still entwined with Ian's.

"Maybe," he chuckled. "But it's true. I couldn't give her this," Mickey said, running his thumb over the cool metal of the bracelet. Ian shuddered as Mickey's thumb continued down onto the sensitive skin of his wrist.

Mickey's eyes fell on Ian's again and they stared at one another for a few heart beats. Mickey was smiling a little and Ian's body was surging with relief and fear and happiness and just about every emotion possible. He felt a single tear escaping his eyes and trickling down his cheek.

"Hey," Mickey reached up and caught it with his thumb. "Don't cry."

"Sorry," Ian said, looking away, embarrassed. The last thing he had wanted to do was cry in front of Mickey, whose opinion meant a lot to him, even if he didn't always want to admit it.

"Don't be sorry," Mickey said. "I'm sorry. I'm an asshole. It's your birthday and you've lost your virginity and you're crying and I just—I screw everything up, really. I don't know why you put up with me."

"Sometimes, it's worth it," Ian said, half-joking. It was true, Mickey was an asshole most of the time, but sometimes he surprised Ian and at those times, Ian found that he understood why he wanted to be near him so often. Mickey was still very much a mystery, but he was solving more clues every single day.

"What about you?" Mickey asked. "Do you regret that it was me? That I was your first?"

"No," Ian said, instantly, because he didn't, not really. Sure, he told himself he was nuts for allowing it to happen, but the truth was he had fallen for Mickey. He hadn't wanted to, because falling for Mickey was suicide, in some sort of metaphorical sense, he was sure of it, but he couldn't help it. Mickey looked like he did and sometimes he spoke beautifully and he did these romantic things and Ian liked it when they were along together. Maybe Mickey would always be the bully, the guy he had built himself up to be, but there was definitely more to him than that and now that Ian had seen this other side of him, there was no going back. He didn't even want to go back.

"You're sure?" Mickey asked.

"Yeah," Ian nodded. He cleared his throat and wiped his eyes. "So, um, can you walk?"

Mickey laughed out loud, then.

"Just about," he informed him. "Hurts when I do.. well. When I do anything at all."

"Sorry," Ian gave him a sympathetic smile.

"You don't get to be sorry for this," Mickey told him. "It—it was good, right?"

Ian stifled a laugh and smiled at Mickey, who was blushing now, his cheekbones a light shade of red.

"Yeah," he said. "Yeah, it was good."

Mickey looked relieved, his shoulders losing some tensity.

"So, are we okay?" he asked, hopefully. "We're good?"

"Yeah," Ian nodded. "Yeah, we're good, Mickey."

"Okay, good."

"I'm sorry I cried, though," Ian said, feeling as if he should provide a reason for turning on the waterworks. "I just—everything sort of piled up on me and I lost it a bit. I don't always cry, you know."

"That's okay," Mickey said, a wide grin spreading across his face and it reached his golden eyes. "You're one of those people who look really, really pretty when you cry."

* * *

"That's a funny walk you've got there, Milkovich."

Mickey turned around in the empty hallway and saw Karofsky grinning at him from the other end. Mickey sighed and saluted him with his middle finger, before turning away and walking on, his body aching, his backside burning uncomfortably. He knew he was walking funny, he'd been telling people all day that he'd hurt himself during football.

"I didn't have Gallagher pegged for a top," Karofsky shouted and people were spilling out of classrooms now. Mickey continued walking, but Karofsky was following him, shouting after him and he just wanted to disappear, to go hide in the bathroom and stay there until it was time to go home.

"I'm talkin' to you, Milkovich," Karofsky said, pulling Mickey back by the collar of his jacket. Mickey winced as his body was shoved up against a locker. Everything ached.

"Get the fuck off me, Karofsky," Mickey growled. "You're forgetting I know something about you, something all of them don't know." He gestured at the other students in the hallway, some of them staring in shock as Mickey Milkovich got thrown around.

"Who are they going to believe?" Karofsky laughed, cruelly. "You've been walkin' around like you've got a pole shoved up your ass."

Mickey guessed he had a point.

"Fuck off, Karofsky," he said. "Whatever you think is going on isn't, so get the fuck off me or everyone will know about you and Gallagher in the janitor's closet and not only will they find out that you're gay," Mickey said, careful not to use the word 'faggot' because it sounded extremely offensive and he could almost feel Ian disapproving. "They'll also know that you forced yourself on him and you know, I'm pretty sure that attempted rape," Mickey lowered his voice on those words. "Is a criminal offense."

Karofsky looked flustered, then tried to retain his composure. His tightened his grip on Mickey's shoulder and snarled.

"Like I said, Milkovich," he went on. "I'm not the one goin' around walking with a limp." Karofsky's voice was raised and people were looking at them plainly now. Mickey wanted to kill him. He wanted to scream the truth, he wanted to punch him and make him pay for everything.

Then Mickey felt the sudden snap of ice hitting his face. Apparently Karofsky had been holding a slushie and Mickey hadn't noticed. Mickey Milkovich had never been slushied in his entire life. He guessed there was a first time for everything, as the ice burned into his eyes and seeped down his neck and soaked him through. Then he pushed forward and flung Karofsky onto the ground and he was punching him again, his vision blurred. He kept on hitting until someone pulled him off. People were shouting and everything was a blur. Karofsky climbed to his feet and Mickey felt hands holding him back, not allowing him to pounce back on the big asshole again. Everything really, really hurt, but he wanted to beat Karofsky until he had no more strength left in him to hit.

"Good luck choosing between gay club and football next week, Milkovich," Karofsky shouted as he turned away and began walking down the halls. "And if you do man up and decide to come to the game, which I highly doubt, make sure you haven't had a dick up your ass the night before, because we don't need our QB hobbling around the field like a fucking gay asshole."

Mickey opened his mouth to tell Karofsky his insults sucked, but he stopped.

He had a game the day of sectionals.

He was so screwed.

* * *

Ian stepped out of math class and into the hallways of McKinley High. He saw it then, the huge commotion at the end of the hall and rushed to see what had happened. His heart sank when he saw a soaking wet Mickey breathing heavily, Finn Hudson restraining him, as Karofsky walked away laughing like a rabid hyena.

People began to clear the area then and Ian waited until Finn had let Mickey go and vacated the hall. He walked up to Mickey then and frowned at him.

"Come on," he said with a sigh. "Let's go clean you up."

Mickey followed behind in silence as Ian pushed the toilet door open and walked inside. He grabbed a handful of tissues and told Mickey to take a seat on the chair which was always inexplicably by the sinks. Mickey sat and Ian ran the tissues under the running faucet, then began to clean Mickey's face, stained with red colouring.

"What happened?" he asked, softly, picking shards of ice out of his hair.

"Karofsky's an asshole, that's what happened."

"Yeah, but I was already aware of that," Ian told him. Mickey closed his eyes as Ian used a damp tissue to rub into them, removing what colouring he could. "What did he do that caused such a scene?"

"Said I was walking funny."

Ian smiled a little. "Well, you are walking funnily."

"Don't care," Mickey grunted.

"Okay, chill," Ian said, running his hands under the tap and then pressing his fingers into Mickey's sticky hair. He pushed through the confined curls and scrubbed the slushie flavouring out as best as he could. "You didn't tell everyone what he did, I assume. I mean, he looked pretty confident walking away."

"No," Mickey said. "I kept hearing you telling me how wrong it would be to out him, but I threatened it. And if he does one more fucking thing I'll do it, regardless of whether it's right or wrong. I can't stand him."

Ian smiled, sadly as he continued to run his fingers through the sticky mess in Mickey's hair. "How does it feel to be slushied?"

"Horrible," Mickey told him, eyes opened and narrowed angrily. "I'm never slushying another person again. Unless it's Karofsky."

"Really," Ian said, sceptically.

"Yeah, really," Mickey affirmed. "I'm, um, I'm sorry I ever did this to you."

Ian only waved a hand, shrugging it off. "Are you hurt?" he asked, because Mickey seemed to wince every time he moved.

"I'll be fine."

"Mickey—"

"There's a game the same day as sectionals."

Ian stopped still. This couldn't go well.

"What are you going to do?" Ian knew exactly what he was going to do, but he still hoped, because there was another side to Mickey that no one knew and at some point, it had to shine through.

The conflict in Mickey's face was palpable. He sighed and shut his eyes tightly.

"I don't know," he groaned. "I just—I can't not go to the game. My dad, the guys, everything will be.. It'll all be over. Everything will have fallen apart and then what will I have?"

"Me," Ian said, without thinking and Mickey looked up at him, eyes wide and bright. "You'll still have me."

Mickey was silent for a few moments, then he exhaled heavily and flinched in pain as a result.

"You shouldn't have to deal with this."

"I don't mind," Ian said, pressing the wet paper towel to Mickey's temple, but he pushed him away, softly.

"No," he shook his head. "I mean all of this. I'm a mess, my whole life is a mess and I'm obviously not going to admit that we're doing what we are any time soon. I shouldn't expect you to put up with that."

* * *

The fact was Ian deserved better than him. He deserved someone who would be willing to walk down a hallway and proclaim to the world that he was theirs, that he got to kiss him whenever he wanted to, that he made love to him at night. Mickey could never give him that.

"Mickey, I don't—"

"No, please, just listen to me," Mickey sat up a bit, slowly, because it still hurt to move. "Regardless of what I want, I have to do what they expect me to do. I have to go to the game. I have to help them win. I have to go home with Quinn and let her do whatever the hell she wants with me because she believes in celebratory sex." He saw Ian's face twist when he said that. "I don't mean that as a stab at you, either, I mean it in that it's true. That's who I have to be, Ian. I don't get to go sing at sectionals because I enjoy it and it feels good and because I'm good at it. I don't get to walk up to you in public and talk to you, let alone anything else. I don't get to go back to your house instead of Quinn's and celebrate with you. I don't get to do any of that.

"You," Mickey went on. "You're so different to anyone I've ever met. I couldn't have admitted that a week ago, certainly not to your face and maybe not even to myself. But that's the truth. I.. I like you, Ian. I like it when we hang out and stuff and I don't know if I can bring myself to think too deeply into all that, or if I even know how to make head nor tail of it, but that's how it is. If we let this go on, I'm stopping you from actually finding someone who can walk up to you in the hallways and talk to you and even kiss you if they want. I figured we would go on as we were, but I just—it just hit me. I shouldn't have expected that, I shouldn't expect you to stick around and be the.. the.."

"The other woman?" Ian offered, his lips down turned.

"Well, sort of, though, I don't like that term, because you're not a woman, Ian," Mickey said. "I just don't think we should do this any more and it's not because I don't want to. It's because I can't. I just—it's over. It has to be over."

Ian frowned at him for a few seconds, then he dropped the tissues he had been holding into the bin.

"Okay," he said. "Fine, whatever."

"Ian, don't—"

"Don't what?" Ian asked. "Do you ever think, Mickey? Do you ever think about anyone but yourself?"

Mickey furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. He had been thinking of Ian when he'd decided to put an end to this. Hell, Ian was the only thing he ever really thought about any more.

"Did you ever think that maybe I don't want to stop?"

Oh.

"Ian, look. It's for the best."

"Is it?" Ian asked. "Because do you know what this proves?"

Mickey waited for him to tell him.

"It proves that you're a bigger coward than I thought," he informed him. "It proves that you're just settling for this stupid, fake life of yours, because you're too afraid, too much of a coward to stand up and show everyone who you really are."

Mickey couldn't speak, he couldn't find words.

"Do you want me to tell you what you are, Mickey?"

He didn't want to know. He didn't want to hear it, because he knew what was coming. Ian said it anyway.

"You're _gay,_ Mickey," he said, voice uneven. "I know that you know that already, though. But you're too afraid to come to terms with it. If you can't even tell yourself the truth, how do you expect anyone else to take you seriously? You're a joke, a coward, a fake idiot who just can't stand up and be who he really is. You're going to be miserable forever. I told you that already and I was sort of winging it when I said it back then, but now I'm absolutely sure.

"You're going to graduate, get into some big college. You're going to stay with Quinn. You're going to marry her and you're going to live in some big house in this stupid town and while you're trying on the expensive suit in the changing rooms of some big, designer store, you're going to be checking out the other guys who are trying on expensive suits, too. Or a few years down the line, you'll go to your kid's football game and you'll catch one of the other dads, another coward, like yourself, you'll catch him smiling at you and you're going to end up a cheater, Mickey. And that's a run down of how your life is going to be. So, yeah, cool. Go do that. I hope it works out for you."

Mickey stared at him, his heart racing, because suddenly everything he was saying felt entirely possible and the notion was really frightening to him. But how could it be possible? He wasn't gay. He wasn't.

"Ian—"

"I think we've said everything we have to say," Ian shook his head, talking over him. "Just—don't come near me, okay, Mickey? Just don't even look at me."

And with that, Ian spun around and walked through the toilet door, disappearing into the hallways. Mickey stayed in the chair for a long, long time, he couldn't have said how long and he tried to think, but his head was spinning and every part of him ached and he just wanted to sleep.

He stood up and went outside, then got in his car and went home to face the equally messed up home life he had left behind him the night before.

Mickey Milkovich, the boy who had everything actually, in reality, had nothing, or at least nothing good. His entire life was slipping through his fingers and falling rapidly into a dark abyss and there was nothing he could do about it.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13:**

"Hey, kid," Frank said with a smile, when Ian walked through the front door after school that day. "Happy Birthday."

Ian smiled back. He hadn't had the best day, what with the incident with Mickey and all, but he still smiled, because his dad was sitting there at the kitchen table, a box wrapped in spotted, brightly coloured paper set down in front of him. Next to the box, was a store bought cake with candles shaped in the numbers '1' and '8' on top. He had gone to such effort, the least Ian could do was show some gratitude.

"Thanks, dad," Ian said, grinning and going to sit down at the table, too.

"Open it," Frank smiled, pushing the box towards his son.

Ian ripped at the paper, until it was gone entirely and a brown, cardboard box was revealed. He pulled it open at the top and looked inside.

"Dad," Ian gasped as he reached inside to lift out the black, shining ankle boots. They were Vivienne Westwood and had three round, golden buttons on the sides, which showed the Vivienne Westwood logo. They smelled like rubber and play dough. "Dad, these are.. this is _amazing_! Thank you so much!" Ian flung his arms around his father, who hugged him back, chuckling a little.

"You're welcome," Frank said, as they drew away from one another. "I remembered you liked them that time we went shopping, but the assistant said they only had one pair left in a small size."

Ian remembered that day, too. She had gone on to inform him that they were ladies' shoes anyway, her nose raised in the air.

"They.. they cost a lot, dad," Ian said, studying the shoes. "You didn't have to."

"Hey," Frank said. "It's not every day your son becomes a man."

Ian returned his father's smile and he felt grateful. His dad was always there for him, always accepting and willing to learn. A lot of kids didn't have that. Mickey didn't have that. Ian was lucky.

"I'm sorry I wasn't here this morning, Ian," Frank said. "I had to get to the garage early."

"It's okay, dad."

"But, hey," Frank smiled, looking right at Ian. "At least you weren't alone."

Ian stopped still.

"Wh-what?"

"I know, Ian."

Ian's heart sank. He was going to get a lecture now. A very awkward lecture.

"Look, Ian, is this kid taking advantage of you?"

"What? Dad, no, we both—"

"Listen, kid," Frank went on and Ian was sure he was the colour of a tomato now. He could feel the heat pressing against his cheeks and up the back of his neck. "I know you've got a good heart, that you can't help it, that you like helping people," he continued. "But you can't just let him think he can keep going out and getting drunk because you're going to let him stay over."

 _Oh._

 _Frank didn't know._

Ian felt relief running through his veins. He let his shoulders slump a little.

"Oh, I know, dad," he said, hoping he looked composed enough. "It's not like that, though. He's not so bad, just—going through a lot. I figured he could use some kindness."

"Well, if you're sure he's not using you.. Hey, where'd you get that?" Frank enquired, pointing at the silver bracelet still around Ian's wrist.

"Oh! Um, Mercedes," he said, quickly. "It's got a song lyric on it, from the song Rachel and I sang at glee. See?" He held it up for Frank to see. Frank squinted.

"Oh, nice," he said, then shrugged. He pushed the cake towards Ian, then. The candles were lit, the flames flickering gently. "Well. Blow your candles out and make a wish."

Ian moved forward, a small smile on his lips and he thought for a minute. He pursed his lips and blew, the flames flickering away until they were nothing.

 _Please let Mickey be okay._

He opened his eyes and smiled at his father, hoping his wish would come true.

* * *

Mickey felt different.

He looked different, too.

He stood in front of his bathroom mirror, a pale glow cast over him from the insipid light hanging overhead. There were shadows beneath his eyes, his skin was pale and drawn-looking, his mouth was twisted into a frown. He knew he wasn't really, but he thought he looked shorter, too, which he most definitely did not need.

It was a strange thing, but after being with Ian, in that way, he didn't feel like the same person any more. It hadn't been like this when he'd lost his virginity the first time round, with Quinn. He kept referring to the night with Ian as that in his head, as _the second time,_ but he knew it was ridiculous. You couldn't lose your virginity twice. That was sort of the point.

However, it hadn't been like this with Quinn. He remembered looking in the mirror, afterwards, searching his face for any inclination of change. There hadn't been anything.

It was different now. He felt as if something inside him had snapped open and as if he'd had some kind of revelation, like he had discovered something about himself that he hadn't known before.

He turned away from the mirror, his reflection making him feel sick and walked back into his bedroom. He felt like crap. Every part of his body still hurt and he had a large bruise on his upper back from where he'd been shoved into the locker, but mostly, his heart hurt. He felt drained, too tired for anything, as if he could feel a physical ache in his chest.

 **BEEP BEEP.**

Mickey groaned and collapsed on his bed, grabbing his vibrating phone from the side table.

 **1 NEW MESSAGE FROM: Ian.**

Mickey stared at his phone for a few seconds, eyes wide, unsure of what to think, then he pressed the button in the centre and the screen showed the message.

 _Hi. I'm sorry that I said all that yesterday, even if it was all true. I sort of know what you're going through and I know it's not easy. I didn't mean to make it worse, I just got caught up in the heat of the moment and it all just came out. I'm not taking it back, I'm just saying I'm sorry that it made you feel worse about everything. You'll get through it, eventually. See you at school, I guess. -K._

Mickey read it once, then twice and then again and again and again and soon, he could recite it without having to look.

 _It's okay. Thanks. See you. -B._

He couldn't say what he wanted to say, that he was sorry, too, that he had made a mistake, that he was going to keep making mistakes for the rest of his life, because things were quickly plummeting downhill and he was afraid and he needed Ian there to help him, to hold him, even. He couldn't say that, because he needed to break away from Ian, needed to let him go.

He was afraid that if he went back to being on good terms with Ian that he would say something he would regret later.

He lay back on his bed and shut his eyes, his head throbbing. The game was on in less than a week and so was sectionals and he couldn't think about one without being reminded of the other and it was tearing away at his soul.

Now he felt really sick.

* * *

"Maybe one of the band guys could fill in?" Sam suggested from his seat in the back row. Everyone looked over at the band guys, who looked alarmed. "Or not," Sam said, slowly.

"We could pay someone?" Finn suggested, causing the others to sigh.

"Let's not get too upset," Mr Schue said, but he was frowning, too. "Maybe we can talk to Mickey. Is anyone friends with him?"

Ian stayed silent. Mickey wasn't his friend.

"Ian, aren't you guys partners for English class?" Rachel asked, swinging around to face Ian. She flicked her long, straight brown hair over her shoulder and looked at him questioningly.

"Yeah," Ian said. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"Maybe you should talk to him," Mercedes said, chewing gently on her bottom lip.

"I don't talk to Mickey Milkovich," Ian shook his head, adamantly. Every time he had to deny that he and Mickey had even spoken, images of a naked Mickey in his bed filled his mind.

"You could talk to him just this once," Artie said. "Maybe he'll listen to you."

" _Please,_ " Santana snorted in the front row. "Milkovich thinks he's better than everyone else. He listens to nobody. Except maybe his daddy, I heard he gives him a few smacks every now and then."

"Stop it, Santana," Ian said, eyes straight ahead. Yes, Mickey was hard to get through to sometimes and he probably wouldn't listen to anyone, but Ian knew his home life was a mess and his father was abusive and no matter the situation between them, he wasn't about to allow anyone to make a mockery of that part of Mickey's life. "That's slander."

"Okay!" Mr Schuester said, voice high. "Enough. This isn't solving anything!"

"Maybe he'll come to his senses," Rory said, in his thick Northern Irish accent.

Ian could feel the negativity in the room. Everyone knew that there was no chance of that.

"As if Mickey Milkovich would abandon a football game to sing on stage," Tina said, sadly.

"Ian, you don't think you could talk to Mickey?" Mr Schue asked.

Ian sighed. He could try, he guessed, but in a way, Mickey had sort of dumped him. They weren't ever official or anything, but the way he had ended it made Ian feel as if he had been dumped. He couldn't talk to Mickey. He had principles, morals, self-respect.

"No," Ian said, adamantly. "I don't think I could."

* * *

"Big game tomorrow, eh, son?"

Mickey looked up at his dad, studying him carefully. It was strange. He could go from being a raving lunatic, to an interested father in the blink of an eye. _That's dangerous,_ Mickey thought.

"Uh, yeah."

"I heard scouts from all the major colleges will be there," he continued. "This is your chance to shine."

"Um, right," Mickey said, the urge to vomit suddenly very strong.

"I can't make it, unfortunately, but I know you'll do well, Mickey," his dad said, stressing the word 'know'.

Mickey couldn't help thinking it sounded a lot like a threat.

* * *

"40 minutes 'til the bus gets here, guys," Mr Schue said waving his hands to quieten the glee club. "Make sure you've got everything!"

The choir room was buzzing with excitement and fear and anxiety. In about an hour, they would be at sectionals in the green room, waiting to go on stage and perform, albeit a member down, but still, the cellist didn't look that bad. At least not any more. He hadn't thrown up in at least ten minutes, so that was progress.

Ian sat on a chair, toying with the bracelet on his wrist. He knew Mickey wasn't coming, yet still, part of him hoped..

"You okay, Ian?" Mercedes asked, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"Yeah," Ian said, smiling for effect. "Yeah, fine. A little nervous."

"You'll be fine once you're on stage," Mercedes assured him. "Hey, what's that?"

She was looking down at the silver bracelet, his fingers twisting around it.

"Birthday gift," Ian said, hoping she wouldn't ask any more. But she did.

"From who?"

"Um," Ian said, feeling flustered. Why hadn't he planned this already? "My dad."

"It's nice," Mercedes smiled and stood up straight. "Well, I gotta go make sure I've got everything. See you in a few."

He waved her off and she fell into the hubbub occurring all around the room. Ian sat there, in silence, his fingers still caressing the cool metal around his wrist, tracing the etched words.

 _"I want to take you far from the cynics in this town and kiss you on the mouth."_

He thought about the guy who had given him this bracelet, the guy who had whispered those words softly against his lips, the guy who had placed small kisses all along his neck and held him in his sleep and smiled at him bewitchingly.

Maybe he would come around.

Ian frowned as he remembered the guy with the cup full of slushie, the one who shoved kids inside lockers, the one that was far too afraid to let anyone see that he had another side, the one who would rather die than let anyone see the real him.

The cold, hard facts hit him then like a slushie in the face.

Mickey wasn't coming.

* * *

"Surprised to see you here, Milkovich."

"Close your mouth and walk away, Karofsky. I am not in the mood."

"Why? Gallagher blow you off?" Karofsky grinned, wildly. "Or maybe you blew him off, if you know what I mean."

Mickey slammed his hand against the lockers in the boy's changing rooms and then instantly regretted it, because it hurt like hell.

"I said walk away, Karofsky," Mickey said, with a sort of contrived patience. He did not need a fight today. He already felt drained and yes, he sort of wanted to punch someone, but really, he didn't have the strength or the motivation. He just wanted to get this game over with, so that he could go home and sleep.

Karofsky laughed manically as he walked away and Mickey continued to get changed.

The room smelled like soap and dust and dirty socks. The loud hum of the football team talking and laughing filled the air and Mickey felt sick to his stomach. He should have been with the glee club, should have been getting on a bus and going to sectionals to sing with them. He should have been with Ian.

Mickey shoved his bag inside his locker and sat down on the small wooden bench. he buried his head in his hands and sighed, his ribs aching inexplicably. This was horrible. He felt as if a cold sweat was running down the back of his neck, his stomach filled once again with that awful hollow feeling and his head felt as if it was spinning like a merry go round. But there was nothing merry about how he was feeling today,

He wondered what it would be like if the world allowed everyone to make their own choices. It didn't matter, he guessed. He would always choose football.

Always.

* * *

 _This is your chance to shine._

The words rang like a shrill alarm in his ears, his mind clouded and unsure. He looked around at his team mates stretching at the side of the playing field next to him, at coach Beiste on the bench studying her tactics sheet, at the people in the stands cheering. He looked across at Quinn in her Cheerios uniform, smiling brightly and waving her pom-pons. He looked to his side and saw Karofsky warming up, running on the spot, his face twisted angrily. He saw Iggy laughing with Azimio, as they shook their ankles, loosening up. He looked down at his own hands, shaking. His knees felt week and his stomach was turning and he wasn't fit to lead a team to victory. He wasn't fit for anything.

He looked to the crowd again and he could easily pick out the college scouts. They tried to lay low, look inconspicuous, but how many spectators went to a game with a notepad and pen? He saw numerous familiar faces and some not so familiar ones. He saw teachers and local neighbours and the janitor and the cleaning ladies. He saw families, moms and dads and sons and daughters and babies and toddlers and old men and women. He saw smiling faces, frowning ones, people laughing, talking, shouting, cheering, waving flags and foam fingers and signs.

But behind all those different exteriors, behind the smiles and the frowns and the laughter and the cheering, he saw what was really there.

He saw a town full of cynics.

* * *

The clock was ticking. Ian could hear it over the sounds of the laughter and the excitement. It was twenty minutes until the bus arrived. He felt that in choosing football over sectionals, Mickey was choosing everything else over him.

It was ridiculous and Ian knew the reality of how things were going to go, but that didn't mean it didn't hurt.

* * *

 _"Milkovich!"_

 _"Milkovich, get back here!"_

 _"What are you doing?"_

 _"Someone do something!"_

 _"Mickey! It's five minutes until kick-off!"_

 _"Is he out of his mind?"_

Mickey ignored everyone calling after him as he dropped his helmet to the ground and ran towards the school, leaving everyone gaping after him. He wasn't sure what had made him do it. Maybe the fact that he felt like something was screaming inside his mind, maybe the stern faces of the shouts in the stands, maybe the way Quinn was smiling at him from behind the ruffles of her pom-pons. Regardless, he had made his mind up and there was no turning back now. He wasn't sure what this would mean for him and his position on the team and for him and his status at school, but he had done it now and he couldn't change that. Frankly, he didn't even want to.

He pushed the choir room door open and was met by several surprised stares. He was panting and coughing a little from all the running. He looked around the room, searching out those crystal blue, shining eyes, but he couldn't find them. He took a few breaths and endeavoured to compose himself before speaking.

"Am I too late?" he asked, still a little breathless.

"Y-you're coming?" Rachel asked, stepping forward, looking stunned.

"Yeah," he shrugged and one of the band guys fell down into his seat sighing in relief. He must have been his replacement. He fought the urge to ask where Ian was, because he was still uncomfortable about people thinking they were close. Maybe he had messed up his life, but there was still a chance he could redeem himself with the footballers. Maybe—

"Well," Rachel said, folding her arms. "Your hair is a mess."

She was right. His hair was stuck to his face, sweating and gelled and matted from the football helmet.

"Where's Gallagher?" he asked, finally.

"Why..?" Mercedes asked, sceptically.

"Well, you said my hair's a mess," Mickey provided. "Who else do you know that can fix it?"

"He has a point, Mercedes," Rachel said, still staring at Mickey with a daggered glare.

"He went to his locker to get something," Mercedes told him, with a shrug.

He gave her a small nod, before disappearing into the hallway again.

"Be quick, bus leaves in 15 minutes!" someone shouted after him.

He walked quickly around the corner and rushed through the halls, heart beating manically in his chest. He wasn't sure what the plan was, just that he needed to see him alone before they left in the crowded bus.

He saw him, then, rooting in his locker, moving with that regal grace that Mickey liked to watch so much. He stood there, looking at him for a few moments, head tilted sideways and just.. _staring._ He realised then that he was smiling. Ian always looked so angelic and innocent. Of course, Mickey knew otherwise, but Ian was still the brightest, most unflawed thing in this entire school, this entire town, maybe in the entire world. Looking at Ian made him feel calm, somehow. He wished he could just look at him all the time.

 _Time._

He was running out of time. He did the only thing then that he could think to do.

He ran forward, twisted Ian around and kissed him like it was his dying day. And in a way, in some crazy, messed up way inside Mickey's head, it was.

* * *

Ian was taken aback at the sudden contact and the unexpected set of lips coming down over his own. He didn't stop and think for a long time, because Mickey's mouth was on his and he was murmuring against his lips and his fingers were gently cupping the side of his face.

Finally, he pulled away and Mickey looked hurt and lost and scared and all of these things that Ian wanted to make go away.

"Wh—you—Mickey," Ian said, shaking his head. "You're supposed to be at the game, you—"

"I know," Mickey said, softly. "I know and I don't know what's going to happen, or if my life is over, or anything, but I'm here and I can't go back, not now."

Ian smiled a bit and chuckled.

"Your life is not over, Mickey," he told him.

Mickey smiled back, too, but his smile didn't reach his eyes. He looked sad, vulnerable and very unlike himself.

"We're going to miss sectionals," Ian told him.

"They said you would fix my hair," was his reply.

Ian looked up at Mickey's matted, greasy-looking hair and grimaced.

"Good God," he breathed. "Did you roll around in puddles?"

"No," Mickey informed him. "I had a helmet on, but I took it off. I feel free."

Ian laughed then and elbowed Mickey. "You _sound_ drunk."

"I _feel_ drunk," Mickey said, smile growing. "I bet everyone thought I was drunk when I ran off the field with no explanation."

"I would have given my right arm to see that."

"I like your right arm," Mickey teased. "And your left one, too."

Ian studied him, closely, looked right into those golden brown eyes, but he saw no signs of alcohol.

"Um," he said, shaking his head again. "Wow. I can see the gel whitening and forming clumps."

Ian reached up to push the gel away and Mickey caught his hand and looked down at it, then back up into Ian's eyes.

"You didn't take it off," Mickey exhaled, his hazel eyes locked on Ian's ocean blues.

Ian realised he meant the bracelet. Mickey's fingers were still entwined around his wrist, his thumb rubbing back and forth across the underside of his wrist, his touch sending shivers all through Ian as his thumb traced over his veins.

"Nope," Ian said, simply.

"How come?" Mickey asked. "I figured you hated me."

"I don't hate you, Mickey."

It was quite the opposite, actually. Ian liked Mickey. He was better than he had been when they had first met. He wasn't completely out of the woods, but he was still improving. And Ian thought that even if he hadn't improved he still wouldn't hate him, because Mickey had this whole other side and sometimes, that outshone the other Mickey, the one that treated others like garbage, the one who did all these awful things.

Ian knew that wasn't the real Mickey Milkovich.

"You should hate me," Mickey muttered, under his breath.

"And I didn't take it off, because I wanted a reminder of this guy," Ian told him. "The one that does the right thing. And I kind of wanted you to see it and remember him, too. I wanted you to see it on my wrist during class and I wanted you to remember that you were capable of doing good things, that you can do things just because you feel like it. Like when you gave me this," Ian said, raising his wrist a little. "And I wanted you to see it and know that I still had faith in you, that I still believed you could do the right thing, that you could be yourself and do what you wanted to do.

"Because, Mickey, I think this is the right thing for you," Ian went on. "I think that singing is your thing. I've never seen you play football, but I know you're happy when you sing. I've seen you happy, for real, Mickey and when you're with them, the footballers? You're not happy. Maybe part of this was about me and you, and me wanting you to choose me, whatever that would mean, but it was about you, too. It was about you being truthful and honest with yourself. I wanted you to do this for you, because it made you happy. I wanted you to choose what made you happy, choose to do this just because it felt good."

"I did," Mickey said. "But you come into it, too."

"Do I?"

"Don't make me say it, Ian. You know you do," Mickey looked pained. "I can't—I can't say what that means, because I don't really know, but..."

Mickey trailed off, unable to find the right words. They were silent for a minute, then Ian cleared his throat.

"We're going to be late," Ian apprised him. "We can fix your hair on the bus."

Ian closed his locker and began walking back in the direction of the choir room, but Mickey tugged him back, his fingers still locked on Ian's wrist.

"Wait," Mickey said, once Ian had turned to look at him.

"Wha—"

Mickey's mouth came down slowly over Ian's and he kissed him very, very slowly, but still ardently. Ian kissed him back, because he couldn't not kiss him back. Mickey had done this and had admitted to Ian that he had affected his decision, in some way.

They pulled away, reluctantly, small, shy smiles on their lips and then walked down the hall towards the choir room.

Neither of them saw Karofsky, who had come looking for the star quarter back, standing at the corner watching them.

* * *

Mickey stood on the stage as the heavy velvet curtains raised upwards. The crowd was like a never-ending sea of people and his heart was hammering in his chest. He had never done anything like this before. The music started to play and Mickey took a deep breath as Rachel sang leading vocals. He opened his mouth, then, to sing background with the others.

 _This was his time to shine._


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14:**

Ian glanced down the bus, to the back row and looked at Mickey sitting there staring vacantly out the window. Everyone else was celebrating after having won at sectionals. People were singing and laughing and drinking that awful sparkling cider that Mr Schue had bought. Mickey was sitting at the back by himself.

"Ian, where are you going?" Mercedes asked when Ian began to climb out of his seat.

"I thought I'd see if Mickey wanted to join us," he shrugged.

" _Why?_ "

"Um, because he's part of this club and he's all by himself?" Ian offered.

"So, leave him be," Mercedes waved a hand. "No one cares about Mickey Milkovich anyway."

 _I do,_ Ian thought.

"We can't just leave him there, Mercedes," Ian shook his head. "He looks so lonely. Besides," Ian said. "He's not so bad."

Mercedes assumed an incredulous expression, her dark eyes wide, lips parted.

"Not so ba—wait!" Mercedes' shocked expression developed into one of amusement and she grinned knowingly. "You _like_ him, don't you?"

Ian's eyes flashed for a split second, then he feigned surprise and acted as if it was the most ludicrous thing he had ever heard in his entire life.

"What?" he said, voice raised. "No! That's—Mercedes. That's completely ridiculous. I do not like Mickey Milkovich!"

"Yes, you do!" Mercedes looked at Ian in delight and she clapped her hands together. "Ian has a cru-ush!" Mercedes said in a sing-song voice.

"That sparkling cider is going to your head," Ian said, with a roll of his eyes, before sitting back and shaking his head.

Ian's insides were still singing, after what had happened with Mickey by his locker. He knew that the happiness wouldn't last long, however, because Mickey's social status was going to be tainted and his dad was going to cause a scene and he was going to get down about it and probably mad and who knew what that would make him do? But for now, he was just happy. They had won sectionals, Mickey had done something that made him happy and in a way, Ian felt that he had picked him over.. well, _something,_ anyway.

He knew that it wasn't anything exclusive and that it was going to go back to Mickey stealing kisses from him while Quinn wasn't around and maybe to them doing sexual things and then Mickey freaking out and apologising.

Maybe that made him desperate. Maybe it made him a sucker. He didn't care. At least not right now. He would eventually. He would need to talk to Mickey, tell him they couldn't keep doing it like this, that he had principles, but for now he would just go with it. He would help Mickey get through this, because he knew exactly what it was like to try to deal with everything Mickey was going through and was bound to go through soon enough. He knew what it was like to be a social pariah. He knew what it was like to struggle with your sexuality. He knew what it was like to be afraid. So, for now, he would just be there for him.

* * *

"Hi."

Mickey looked around from the window and saw Ian walking towards him, wobbling a little as the bus jerked. He sat down beside Mickey and looked at him.

"Hey," Mickey replied, eyes going to Ian's wrist, because he liked to know he was still wearing the bracelet.

"Why are you sitting here by yourself?"

Mickey gave him a look that said 'you have to ask?' and Ian frowned.

"Come on," he said, tugging lightly on the sleeve of Mickey's jacket. "Come sit with us. They'll be fine. You're part of this team, Mickey."

Mickey exhaled and turned his gaze back to the happenings outside the window. He had been part of another team, too, just hours ago. Now it seemed like everything was gone, like everything was falling apart.

"Look," Ian said, sitting back next to Mickey. "I know you're worried about what's going to happen with everything, but it'll get better, regardless of what happens."

"I doubt that," Mickey mumbled, still looking out the window. Nothing was happening out there.

"That's because you're so negative all the time," Ian told him. "Seriously, though. Things are never as bad as we think they are, Mickey. Trust me, there were times when I thought it was the end of the world. Like when my dad was in hospital. I thought that was it and I don't know what I would have done if I'd lost him. It wasn't like my life was all sunshine and rainbows as it was, but it got better. Things always do, eventually."

Mickey felt like an ass not for the first time in Ian's presence. When Ian told him about his dad and the things he had been through, it made him feel as if he had minor problems in comparison. He told Ian as much.

"No problem is a minor problem, Mickey," Ian responded. "If something is bothering you and it's affecting you in your every day life, then it's a problem, simple as that. Just because someone has a bigger problem than you doesn't mean yours isn't important. If something is bothering you and you're worried, then it's worth talking about, you know?"

Mickey nodded, thinking he understood.

"Besides," Ian said and Mickey thought his voice sounded a little uneven as he spoke. "I'll help you out in whatever way I can. I—well, what I mean to say is that you don't have on get through it on your own."

"Thanks, but, um," Mickey glanced towards the front of the bus. "Can we talk about this later?"

"Sure," Ian nodded.

Mickey nodded back, gratefully. He didn't want to talk about it right now. He needed to be alone with Ian when they talked about his personal problems. The bus was far too crowded for his liking.

"So, are you going to come sit with us?" Ian asked, smiling and Mickey frowned again, because when Ian smiled, it made him want to do things. It made him want to say yes to whatever he wanted him to do.

"I don't think so," he said, anyway.

"Oh, come on!" Ian said. "We've got sparkling cider!"

"Oh, wow," Mickey joked. "You guys are hardcore."

Ian elbowed him playfully and Mickey smiled harder. He liked when they had little moments like this. It made him feel as if all was not lost.

"But, really, go back up there," Mickey said. "Mercedes keeps glancing down to make sure I haven't magically pulled a slushie from my back pocket and emptied it over your perfect hair-do."

It was true. She glanced back every few seconds, sipping from her little, plastic cup, her head tilted and her eyes narrowed. Mickey had the urge to wave, or flick her off, but he didn't think it would do him any favours.

"She thinks I've got a crush on you," Ian said, looking down the bus in Mercedes' direction.

"Oh, she does, does she?" Mickey smirked. "And what'd you tell her?"

"I told her the cider was going to her head," Ian grinned.

"Yeah, all that fizz can make you crazy," Mickey teased.

"Totally," Ian chuckled. "Come on, come sit with us, Mickey. It'll be fun."

Mickey glanced up the bus at Sam Evans singing the theme song to Pokémon. Brittany had straws up her nostrils. Finn Hudson was trying to balance a straw on his nose. Mickey looked away, shaking his head.

"Yeah, it looks like great fun," he said, not without sarcasm and Ian elbowed him again.

"Please?"

"No, Ian."

"Come on," Ian pleaded. "I want you to. Do it for me."

Mickey looked at him, then, because if Ian really did want him to, he would probably do it. He liked the idea of being wanted just for himself. Other people wanted him for his status, like Quinn, for example. With Ian, it wasn't like that.

"Fine," Mickey sighed and Ian clapped his hands together as if to say 'oh, goody!' and Mickey rolled his eyes, affectionately. "On one condition, though."

Ian's smile faded and his eyes narrowed, studying Mickey.

"What?"

"You come chill with me in the field later," Mickey stated. "I don't want to go home tonight and I don't really want to be on my own."

He hated admitting that last part, but with Ian, it wasn't so bad. He didn't think Ian would judge him, or at least not for those reasons.

"Deal," Ian said, almost instantly. "Now, come on. Put on that winning smile and channel the Mickey Milkovich that I know and love."

Ian got up and walked back towards the front of the bus, obviously expecting Mickey to follow him, but Mickey stayed still in his seat for a couple of heart beats, his eyes wide and mouth hanging, because Ian had indirectly said that he loved him.

* * *

"Did we just—we just had sex in a field," Ian said, incredulously. "Oh my God. _We just had sex in a field_."

"Usually, I'm the one freaking out," Mickey said, staring up at the sky. "This makes a change."

"I'm not freaking out for the same reasons you freaked out," Ian said, feeling a little dazed. "Actually, I'm not even freaking out at all."

"Yeah, you are," Mickey said, rolling over onto his stomach and pushing himself up on his elbows. He smiled down at Ian who was staring at the sky with wide eyes.

They were on top of that blanket Mickey had taken with him last time and this time, he'd brought a second blanket, too, so that was over them. Ian had no idea how it had happened. They had been lying there, watching the stars, like they had done before. Then suddenly they were kissing and then clothes began to fall and Ian didn't even think to object to doing it in the middle of a God damned field, because Mickey looked far too gorgeous in the light of the moon and if he had said he didn't want him, he would have been lying through his teeth.

"I am not."

"Prove it," Mickey whispered and then he was moving across to hover over Ian, who simply stared up at him, stunned.

"What are yo—"

Mickey was kissing him again and Ian thought to push him off so that they could talk and he could complain some more about being naked in a field and having had sex with Mickey without any protection, but then Mickey was deepening the kiss and his fingers were stroking his arm, rubbing tiny circles back and forth, his touch sending small shivers along Ian's skin, and he gave in with a sigh and kissed Mickey back.

When they pulled apart, Mickey grinned down at Ian, his eyes a dark gold in the star light.

"You're right, you're not freaking out," he said, then rolled back next to Ian, their arms touching. Mickey sighed. "I just don't want tonight to end."

Ian could have taken the romantic analysis of that, which would have been 'I-don't-want-tonight-to-end-because-I-want-to-spend-every-minute-by-your-side-and-that-can't-happen-when-we're-in-public', but he was pretty sure that wasn't what Mickey meant. He was pretty sure that it meant 'I-don't-want-this-night-to-end-because-tomorrow-may-very-well-mean-I-will-be-cast-out-and-friendless-and-girlfriendless-and-have-to-deal-with-my-angry-father'.

Ian sighed. "Well, no matter what happens, you've still got us, the glee club," Ian told him, then tilted his head sideways to look at Mickey. "And.. you've still got me."

Mickey turned his head slowly to look at Ian.

"For how long, though?"

"What?"

"How long do I still have you?"

Ian knew what he meant. Ian wasn't going to stick around as the.. the _paramour_ forever.

"I'll always be someone you can come to," Ian assured him. "No matter the situation."

Mickey nodded, then sighed again.

"If things were different, you know I..." Mickey trailed off, leaving Ian watching him expectantly. It was clear he wasn't going to finish that sentence.

"You still don't think you're gay, do you?"

Mickey went still, Ian felt him stiffening next to him. He said nothing, which Ian thought was an improvement from instant denial.

"Mickey, we just had sex in a field," Ian said, again, both as a reminder of how crazy that was and as a means of reminding Mickey that straight guys didn't really go around having sex in fields with other guys.

"I know," Mickey said, quietly. "How badly do you hurt right now?"

Ian laughed a bit then, because he hurt a lot. Mickey had insisted on topping and they obviously hadn't planned on it happening, so they didn't have condoms, or lube, or anything that would make the intrusion easier (besides saliva, but that made Ian shiver all over every time he thought about it). So, yes, Ian was feeling very sensitive and uncomfortable and he didn't want to move. Ever.

"I might have to stay in this position forever," was Ian's reply and Mickey said, his body shaking with laughter next to Ian's.

"So, all these times when I need to come to you with all these problems, I'll have to come find you here?"

Ian elbowed Mickey. He seemed to be doing that a lot lately.

"Very funny, Milkovich," Ian joked.

"It'll be just like in 'Pocahontas'," Mickey went on, smiling brightly, a lick of moonlight across his face. "Like when she goes to her grandma for advice. But her grandma is a tree."

Ian spluttered and tried to sit up, but ended up falling back, groaning, because everything ached.

"Slow down there, Grandmother Willow," Mickey said, laughing. Ian liked when he laughed, even if he was laughing at him. "Move too fast and you'll hurt yourself even more."

"And whose fault is that?" Ian smirked.

"Mine," Mickey grinned. "But not once did I hear you refusing it."

As if he ever would.

"Two years," Ian breathed, half-laughing. "How on earth did Quinn manage to put up with you for two whole years?"

Mickey elbowed Ian this time and said, "Well, I'm not like this with Quinn, obviously. Speaking is difficult with Quinn. She doesn't listen most of the time. And she can be scary. So, she gets quiet, reserved, cool, 'doesn't-speak-unless-spoken-to' Mickey."

Ian thought Quinn must have been crazy. She had him and she treated him the way she did. To be fair, Mickey didn't exactly treat her like a queen, but she could at least pretend to give a damn about him. Mickey seemed to pretend he cared about her, at least in public.

"For the record," Ian began, smiling sideways at Mickey. "I think this Mickey is way cooler than the other Mickey."

"That's nice of you to say," Mickey chuckled, but his heart wasn't in it. "No one else does."

"How do you know if you've never shown this side to anyone?" Ian enquired and Mickey shook his head immediately.

"I know what they're like."

"You know what, Mickey?" Ian smiled, sadly. "None of that, the popularity and all that crap, none of that is going to matter a few years down the line. The way I see it, you may as well be yourself from the very start, because if you get too caught up in the pretence, you won't know how to be any other way and then eventually, your whole life will be a lie, you know?"

"I know," Mickey said, very quietly.

"I don't think you do know," Ian sighed, sadly. If Mickey truly believed that, he would do something about it, but maybe at some point he would understand. Ian hoped so anyway. Mickey looked uncomfortable and stayed quiet for a long time, so Ian changed the subject. "I can't believe we're naked in a field. It's filthy here and I haven't moisturised or—"

"I'm sure you'll survive one night, Ian," Mickey chuckled. "Now stop complaining, hold my hand and watch the stars, because this might just be the final night of happiness I have for the rest of my entire life."

Mickey slipped his hand into Ian's and gave it a gentle squeeze, as if he just wanted someone to give him a little reassurance. Ian could do that.

"You'll smile again, Mickey," Ian told him, turning his head to look Mickey right in those honey-coloured eyes.

"No, I won't," Mickey said and Ian could see the pain in his eyes. He wasn't sure if there were boundaries now that they'd been so intimate and he wanted to just move across and hold him. He didn't.

"Yes, you will," Ian said, firmly. "I'll make sure of it."

* * *

Mickey walked through the hallways, his head bowed, wishing he didn't have to do this. He and Ian had parted ways around the corner and even if Ian had reassured him again and again, he just didn't feel as if everything would go as he hoped.

He turned into the hall where the lockers stood and instantly felt all eyes on him. He raised his head up and tried to look proud, because he was Mickey Milkovich and he was better than all of them. Even if he didn't really believe that, he hoped that was the vibe he was giving off.

"Mickey!"

Mickey took a deep breath and turned around to see Quinn running towards him. He was screwed.

"You asshole!"

Mickey rolled his eyes. He was tired. He didn't want to deal with this. Sometimes, when Quinn behaved like this he wanted to shout that he was cheating on her, just to see the hurt in her eyes, but he always thought the better of it.

"I called you, like, two hundred times!" Quinn declared for all to hear once she had reached him. "I cannot believe you would do that, Mickey! Do you know what people are saying?"

"No," Mickey said, tiredly. "But I can imagine."

"No," Quinn said, angrily. "You cannot imagine. They're saying you're turning into a nerd!"

Mickey started walking away from her, but she followed, much to his chagrin.

"There are worse things to be accused of being than an nerd, Quinn," Mickey apprised her.

"Yeah, that's true, Mickey, because do you know what other rumour is going around? And, God, I _hope_ a rumour is all it is. In fact, _I'm sure_ it's just a rumour, because my boyfriend wouldn't do a thing like _go gay_ on me!" Quinn shouted. Mickey's heart stopped, but he continued on, playing dumb. "Karofsky is saying you're sleeping with some gay kid."

"And you're paying attention to what Karofsky says because...?"

"Because you're acting weird, lately, Mickey, you can't deny that," Quinn tugged him back by the arm and gestured for him to follow her inside an empty classroom. He followed because she would follow him anyway and he would rather do this in private than in a hall filled with intrusive students, not to mention teachers.

"So, tell me," Quinn said, once they were inside. "Why'd you do it?"

Mickey sighed and sat down on a table. He looked down at his feet.

"I like singing," he shrugged.

"Oh, God," Quinn said, raising her hands to her head in distress. "Then you are gay!"

"Jesus, Quinn," Mickey groaned. "Singing does not make you gay. I'm not gay."

He kept his gaze low, because he wasn't sure that was entirely true any more. Maybe it was time he addressed that soon. He would think about it.

"Then why?"

"Because they needed a twelfth member," Mickey told her. "Look, I like doing it and they needed me, so I went, okay? I don't know why you're making such a big deal out of it."

Quinn looked deranged now, her eyes wide, brows raised way up high and her lips parted.

"Um, maybe because _the entire world is talking about you_!" Quinn told him and Mickey rolled his eyes again. It reminded him of what Ian had said, about none of this mattering in the real world, in the future, outside this town. Obviously the whole world was not talking about one kid ditching his football game for a show choir competition.

"They'll get over it," he shrugged, but he didn't really believe that.

"And what about Karofsky?" Quinn asked and Mickey wished she would just forget about that. "Where would he get a story like that?"

Mickey sighed. He took a few breaths, then looked up at his girlfriend. Her eyes were questioning him.

"Look, here's the deal. You know I got paired with some new kid for English, right? Mrs Flynn's class?" Quinn nodded. "So, turns out the kid—Ian—is gay. He's in glee, too, so Karofsky, who suddenly hates me for whatever reason, fabricated this tale that I'm having sex with him—Gallagher."

"Gallagher?"

He gaped at her for a minute. Was she even listening to him?

"Yeah, Gallagher. Ian Gallagher. That's the kid I got partnered with."

"And Karofsky just suddenly hates you?"

"Yes, I have no idea why, okay? Maybe it's because I joined glee, I don't know, but he attacked me the other day. You remember."

Quinn nodded slowly, clearly believing him. "So, what are you going to do?"

"I'm going to break his legs," Mickey said. He had no intentions of actually breaking Karofsky's legs, or any of his bones for that matter, but he was definitely going to confront him and have a little talk with him about the janitor's closet incident.

"Okay," Quinn said, looking calmer. "Well, I think if that's just a rumour, we'll be okay. The whole skipping the game, though, I don't know. It was a really dumb thing to do, Mickey."

"Why is everything I like dumb?"

"I never said that," Quinn pointed out. "But it doesn't do much for your reputation, now does it? But maybe it'll be okay! Maybe if you do get in a fight with Karofsky, it'll up your rep.! Black eyes are hot, Mickey, maybe let him hit you a couple of times. Then maybe people will start seeing you as my cool, popular boyfriend again!"

"Wait," Mickey said, furrowing his eyebrows. "You _want_ me to get hurt, just so I don't make you look bad?"

"Admit it, baby, it would help," Quinn said, hands on her hips.

"Actually, Quinn, I don't think I want to continue this conversation," Mickey said, standing up. "In fact, I don't think I want to continue this relationship, either."

Not that Mickey would have defined what he and Quinn had as a relationship.

"Mickey—"

"We both know why we were even together in the first place, so there's no—"

"If you break up with me, do you know what people are going to say?" Quinn said. "They'll think those rumours are true, Mickey. They'll put two and two together and they'll come up with you being a fag. On top of that, I don't think you can afford to leave me. You're on thin ice, Mickey. Me being your girlfriend is going to help put you back on top. How about you think about that before deciding you don't want to 'continue this relationship'?"

She was right. Mickey sank back down onto the table and took a long inhale of breath. Everything she had said, for once in her perfect little life, was spot on.

"Fine," he said, finally. "Okay. You got what you wanted, now can I get my books?"

Quinn smiled, satisfied and leaned up to place a tiny kiss on his cheek.

"Good," she said, once she'd taken a step back. "I'll see you in class, okay, babe? This whole mess will be over and done with very soon, you'll see!"

And with that, she turned around and left the room, swinging her hips. Mickey stayed there another minute. He closed his eyes and thought about how much worse that could have gone. In a way, he was disappointed that Quinn hadn't broken things off. Of course, he had had the opportunity, but he had to save his reputation. It was all he really had. Well, he had Ian, too, but he was sure he would get sick of the whole arrangement sooner or later. In the long run, this was for the best.

 **BEEP BEEP.**

Mickey reached into his pocket and pulled out his vibrating phone.

 **1 NEW MESSAGE FROM: Ian.**

 _Karofsky knows._

* * *

"Well, look who we have here."

Ian recognised the voice behind him immediately. He turned around, just as Karofsky's large hands came down on his shoulders. He tried to push him off, but he was far too strong. He pushed Ian inside an empty classroom and shut the door behind them.

Ian's heart was hammering in his chest. He wasn't sure what Karofsky was capable of and he really didn't want to find out.

"Karofsky, what do you want?" he asked, hoping he didn't sound too afraid.

"I saw you, you know," Karofsky snarled. He looked mad, really mad. "Yesterday."

"You saw me yesterday?" Ian asked, confused. "Well, that's probably because I was at school. Good eye."

Ian cursed his big mouth. The last thing he needed to do was provoke him.

"No," Karofsky said, moving closer. Ian took a step backwards. "I mean, _I saw you._ You and Milkovich swapping spit at the lockers."

Ian went still. His initial thought was that Mickey was busted and he felt awful. He knew it wasn't really his fault, but he couldn't help but feel bad.

"Karofsky, Mickey Milkovich is dating Quinn Fabray," Ian said, because it didn't hurt to try. "He's not gay. I don't know what you think you saw, but—"

"Cut the crap, Gallagher, I know what I saw and what I heard," Karofsky told him.

"It—It was a mistake!" Ian said, quickly. "I kissed him. He wasn't expecting it, it just sort of happened. He told me he wasn't into guys and we left it at that. Seriously."

"You expect me to believe that crap?" Karofsky said, laughing cruelly. "I was there from the second Milkovich said he liked your fucking, little girl arms."

Oh, well that was different, then. They were officially busted.

"So, what are you going to do, Karofsky?" Ian said, gaining the nerve from nowhere. "You and I both know what you did to me in that closet and while I'm not about to out you to the entire population of McKinley High, I can't promise you that Mickey won't. So what are you going to do?"

Karofsky looked a little taken aback.

"Why him?"

"What?" Ian asked, wrinkling his nose.

"You heard me," karofsky said, quietly, eyes on the ground. "Why him?"

Ian was silent for a moment. He had no idea what he was talking about.

"Why who?"

" _Why Mickey Milkovich?_ " Karofsky said, voice raising. " _Why not me?_ "

Ian froze. Things had suddenly gotten very, very awkward. He could almost feel the ice in the room. He said nothing, but Karofsky went on, his face twisted angrily.

"I don't get it," he said. "He did the same things to you that I did, yet when I kissed you, you screamed like I had a knife to your throat. But when he kissed you—when _Milkovich_ kissed you—you kissed him back. You put your fucking, little girl arms around him and _you kissed him back_!"

"Mickey isn't anything like you."

Karofsky's head shot up and a million emotions passed over his face: Anger, fear, surprise, pain, more anger. Ian felt sorry for him, then remembered he was actually a full on asshole, way worse than Mickey. He'd done things to him that Mickey never had, he'd said things, too. Karofsky was obviously having sexuality problems and yes, Ian knew what that was like, but there were better ways to deal with them than beating kids silly.

"Mickey doesn't do the things he does because he wants to. He does them because he thinks he has to. I've seen the pleasure you get from hurting others, Karofsky. I've seen your face. He's not like that," Ian said, firmly.

"You barely even know him—"

"Actually, I could probably safely say I know him better than any of you guys, who are supposed to be his 'friends'," Ian said, forming air quotes with his fingers. "You've known him your entire life, I've known him for a little over three months. I'm pretty sure you have no idea who he really is."

"Screw him," Karofsky spat. "Oh, wait, you already have."

Ian said nothing. Karofsky looked shocked, then, like he hadn't really believed his own words until Ian had stood there and not denied it.

" _You screwed him?_ "

"That," Ian said, walking towards the door. "Is none of your business. Before you go around telling everyone about us, you should probably think. Mickey isn't going to sit back and let you say these things about him, regardless of whether they're true or not and I won't be able to stop him. If you do it and he tells everyone about what happened in the janitor's closet and then people ask me if it's true, I'm not really going to be able to say no, am I?"

Karofsky stared at him open-mouthed.

"Exactly," Ian smiled and walked out the door.

He walked quickly down the hall and turned the corner before pulling his phone out of his bag, hands shaking. He typed a quick text and sent it.

 _Karofsky knows._

* * *

"This is a Mickeyrvention."

"A _what_?" Mickey asked, looking at Iggy and six other guys off the football team standing around him at his locker.

"A Mickeyrvention," Iggy repeated in a tone that said 'duh!'.

"Um, that doesn't make any sense—"

"Yes, it does," Azimio said, next to Iggy. Mickey noted that Karofsky was not present. All the better.

"Okay," Mickey said, slowly.

"Quinn told us why you went to glee," Iggy said and Mickey nodded. "She also told us you're not actually sleeping with Gallagher."

Mickey nodded again. "I'm not."

"See, Karofsky gave us some good reasons to believe he was tellin' the truth," Iggy went on and Mickey's heart beat sped up. He just wanted to run away and never come back. Maybe even take Ian with him. "So, we're going to ask you to come clean. Are you gay?"

Mickey spluttered, hoping it was convincing.

"What?" he said, in surprise. "No! I'm with Quinn, how could I be gay?"

"You're sure?"

"Positive."

He could almost feel the entire world laughing at him. No one else knew, obviously, but if they did..

"Okay," Iggy said. "Well, just so people don't think we're push overs, we're going to ask you to nicely not sit with us at lunch until after winter break."

Mickey let his mouth hang open. They couldn't be serious.

"What, really?"

"Yeah," Iggy shrugged. "It's good logic."

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard, Iggyerman," Mickey shook his head. He felt sick and tired and he wanted to go home and sleep, but he knew it wasn't that simple. Going home meant facing his dad, which would not be pretty.

"Look, Milkovich," Iggy said, moving forward and pulling Mickey away from the others. " _Mickey._ You're my bro, right?"

Mickey nodded. He guessed so.

"Right and me and you, we're the number ones round this place. You screwed up and I'm all about forgiveness and all that. We won the game anyway, no harm, no foul, right? So, I can't afford to have my reputation ruined as well, now can I? So, if we just give you a bit of a time out, nothing can go wrong. After winter break, you just go back to being my same old bro, right? Everyone will have forgotten this little mishap and you end up back on top. Simple."

Mickey realised three things, then. One, Iggy had the worst logic out of anyone he had ever met in his life. Two, Iggy said the word 'right' far too many times and three, as dumb as Iggy's logic seemed to be, he had a point. That was the way things worked around here and tomorrow was the last day before winter break. He could handle that.

He nodded. "Okay."

"Good," Iggy grinned. "So, you just hang with those glee losers for the last couple of days and then in the new year, you're back where you belong. Everything'll work out fine."

Mickey hoped so, he really, really hoped so.

"Oh and for the record," Iggy said. "I don't think you're gay, dude."

Mickey gave him a weak smile, before heading off in the other direction to his next class.

He hadn't thought he was gay either for a long time, but now, he just didn't know.

* * *

"Ian Gallagher!" Rachel Berry said sliding into the seat next to him at lunch. Mercedes slid in the other side and they were both grinning like mad women.

"Um, hi?" Ian offered.

"Is it true? Is Mickey Milkovich gay?" Rachel asked, excitedly.

"No, Rachel, he is not. He's dating Quinn Fabray, remember?"

"That tells us nothing," Mercedes shook her head.

"Look, Dave Karofsky made up a rumour, okay? Just because Mickey Milkovich is in glee, he thinks he's gay and since I'm the only other out gay kid at this school and I'm in glee club, not to mention the fact that Mrs Flynn partnered us up for English, Karofsky decided he would pull me into his little game and say we're having some kind of illicit love affair."

Ian gave himself a mental pat on the back. That was super convincing, even if he did say so himself.

"That's all?" Mercedes asked, looking disappointed.

"Yes, I'm sorry to disappoint you, but my life is not that exciting," Ian told her, with a smile.

"That's a shame," Rachel said, opening her lunch box. It had a picture of a ballerina on it. "You guys would make the cutest couple."

Ian smiled down at his lunch, hoping no one saw. Maybe they would. Maybe they did. Maybe he would never really find out.

* * *

Mickey pushed the locker room door open and walked inside, looking for Karofsky. He knew he would be here. He was always the last one to leave right after gym class. Ian had texted Mickey exactly what had happened and what had been said and Mickey felt sort of proud of Ian for doing what he had. Now, he needed to lay down the rules with Karofsky.

"Karofsky!" Mickey shouted as he walked through the lockers. "Where are you, you asshole?"

He heard the metallic sound of a locker door opening a little away from him, so he followed that. He saw him then, sitting on the bench tying his shoe laces. He was sweaty, his hair sticking to his forehead. He looked really flushed, too.

"Heard you're crushing on Ian Gallagher," Mickey smiled, leaing against one of the lockers.

"No, I'm not," was all Karofsky said. He didn't lift his head.

"That's not what I heard," Mickey told him. "The exact words I was told you said were 'why Mickey Milkovich? Why not me?' That sounds like you're crushing on Ian Gallagher, Dave."

When Ian had told him that, Mickey had gotten a feeling in the pit of his stomach. He didn't realise what it was for a few minutes, but then it hit him. _He was jealous._ He knew it was hypocritical. He was doing these things with Ian and he was still with Quinn and still sort of bullying Ian, not as much as before, but he was still doing it, but the idea of anyone else having, or being with Ian, touching him and kissing him and whispering in his ear, made him feel sick.

"I don't have a crush on Ian Gallagher, okay?" Karofsky exploded angrily. He shot up out of his seat and slammed his fist into a locker.

"Good," Mickey said. "Now what are we going to do about what you think you saw—"

"I don't _think_ I saw anything, Milkovich and Gallagher all but admitted it, so shut the fuck up telling me I imagined it."

"You're awfully mad for someone who claims he isn't crushing on the guy," Mickey said, looking thoughtful. "You sure it doesn't bother you that I spent last night with him?"

Mickey had no idea where he was getting the guts to say these things out loud from. His heart was beating far too quickly against his rib cage and he felt dizzy and giddy and like he might pass out, but he wanted to hurt Karofsky. He knew Ian would frown at him for saying these things later. He knew he would tell him that he needed to be more careful, to not provoke him, but Mickey just didn't care right now. Karofsky wasn't going to threaten him and get away with it and he most definitely was not going to have a crush on the guy he—

"Shut up, Milkovich," Karofsky said, sounding a little breathless. "I'm not into Gallagher!"

"Then it doesn't bother you that I took his virginity?"

 _Stop, Mickey,_ his mind screamed. _Stop, or you're going to be sorry._

Maybe he would be, but it was worth it, just to see Karofsky wincing like this.

"I see," Mickey smiled, sweetly. "I'm glad you're okay with this, David. Now, what do we do about this information you have? I have some information, too, remember?"

Karofsky mumbled something and Mickey moved forward.

"I didn't quite hear that."

"I said I won't say anything if you won't! God, Milkovich! Can you just get the fuck out and let me finish getting changed?"

"Worried about me peeking while you've got your pants off?" Mickey asked, brightly. "No worries, Dave, you're not my type. I like my men with elegance and style. Like Ian Gallagher—oh! Oops! Sorry, I don't mean to rub it in. I'll just be on my way now."

Mickey gave him a wink, before heading outside. He stood by the door and leaned against the wall, the cool brick soothing. His heart was racing and his mind was twirling, but he smiled, because that had been sort of fun. He'd watched Karofsky squirm and pretended as if he was completely comfortable with his sexuality to someone other than Ian, which felt really good.

He knew it wouldn't last, but he could smile knowing he'd done this, if only for a little while.

* * *

"What do you want?"

Ian looked up when he heard Santana's voice. He saw her sitting there looking up at someone. _Mickey._

Ian eyed him, trying to figure out why he was standing at their table, looking awkward. Gorgeous, but still awkward.

"Um, can I-can I sit with you guys?"

Ian raised his eyebrows and he saw everyone else do the same. Had the footballers really outcasted him?

"Why on earth would we want you to sit with us?" Rachel asked, in that snooty tone. "You've done nothing but made our lives a misery."

Ian thought about speaking up, but he didn't think that would help quench the rumours that were going around and as much a he wanted Mickey to just come out and tell the world they were sort-of together, he knew Mickey didn't want that, so he needed to help him and speaking up would not help Mickey in the long run.

Ian saw Mercedes looking at him and he couldn't really tell what she was trying to say to him. He shrugged and Mercedes rolled her eyes. Rachel was still going on and on about the various things Mickey had done to each member of the glee club.

"Rachel, shut up," Mercedes said and Rachel swung around to look at her, her eyes wide in surprise. "Just let him sit down. He came through for us when we needed him for sectionals, give the guy a break."

Ian gaped at Mercedes and he knew she was doing this because she had come up with the idea that Ian had a crush on Mickey just the day before and now these rumours were circulating, so she had obviously put two and two together.

"Come on, Mickey, sit down," Mercedes said, scooting over in her seat, leaving a space between herself and Ian. Ian wanted to kick her, because the last thing Mickey needed was to be seen sitting next to the guy he had supposedly been sleeping with. Which he was, Ian thought, but still. He didn't really have a choice now, because drawing attention to it would make people even more wary.

"It's cool," Mickey said. "I don't want to intr—"

"Mickey, sit down," Ian said, rolling his eyes.

Mickey sat. A few minutes later everyone had gone back to eating and chatting away and no one even glanced in their direction. Ian watched as Mickey opened a packet of chips and held the bag up to offer them around the table. Sam, Brittany and Mercedes took one. He offered one to Ian, but he shook his head.

"How's your day?" Ian asked, eyes on his sandwich.

"Okay," Mickey said.

"Truthfully, though."

"I pictured it being worse."

"I told you it wouldn't be as bad as you anticipated," Ian smiled a little.

"I guess," Mickey shrugged. "I spoke with Karofsky just now."

Ian's heart sank. That couldn't have gone well. Mickey didn't appear to be bruised or cut.

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah, he agreed to keeping quiet if I did," Mickey said, quietly.

"Did you threaten him?" Ian asked, frowning.

"Not exactly," Mickey apprised him. "I maybe said a few things I shouldn't have, though."

Ian turned to look at him then. "Like?"

"Like—I'll tell you later. I can't say it here."

"Oh, God," Ian groaned, because if he couldn't even say it in a crowded, noisy room where no one was listening, it had to be bad. "Text it to me. Right now."

Mickey sighed and reached into his pocket for his phone. He began to type. A few minutes later, Ian took out his phone and clicked into the new message.

 _I told him we spent last night together. And I said I took your virginity._

Ian shoved hos phone away, quickly, for fear of someone seeing. He was stunned. Why would Mickey do something like that?

"What the hell?" he hissed.

"I liked watching him squirm," Mickey smiled a little, then sipped from his water bottle. "He's got it bad for you, Gallagher," Mickey smirked.

"Ugh, shut up," Ian grimaced.

"He does," Mickey said, gravely. "Not that I'm happy about it."

Ian looked at him, his heart stilling for a split second. Every time Mickey said something cute like that he stopped breathing for just a moment and he got butterflies in his stomach. He wondered if Mickey ever got that because of him.

"Really?" Ian breathed and Mickey nodded. He screwed the cap back on his bottle and laid it down.

"I also might have told him I like my men elegant and stylish, like you."

"Mickey, what the fuck?" Ian said, quietly. "I thought you were still in denial about the whole being gay thing!"

Ian felt Mickey's mood change, but he didn't care, because this was weird. One minute, he was adamant that he wasn't gay, the next he was telling people how he liked his men.

"I wanted to piss him off," Mickey shrugged.

"Did it work?"

"Yes, it was awesome," Mickey grinned down at his chocolate bar and Ian chuckled, because it was funny that Mickey was having such a bad day, yet something as small as this could make him happy.

"What about the others? Iggy and Quinn and those guys?" Ian asked and Mickey's smile disippated.

"That," Mickey said, quietly. "I will tell you about later."

* * *

Mickey took his phone from his pocket and pressed the middle button. The text opened up.

 _Good luck. Let me know how it goes.-Ian._

Mickey smiled and took a deep breath, before slipping his phone back in his pocket. He was going to need all the luck he could get. He hated when his dad got mad, because he shouted and when he shouted, Mickey's insides shook violently and he was always caught between wanting to cry and wanting to hit his father back. He would never do either.

He opened the car door and stepped outside, the air refreshing. He breathed it in as he closed the door slowly, then walked equally slowly up the garden path. He stopped at the door and reached into his pocket for his keys. He felt the cool metal against his fingers and pushed the key into the whole n twisted it clockwise. The door clicked and he pushed it open and stepped into the hall.

Mickey could feel the tention in the house the second he walked inside. His heart was beating manically in his chest as he walked on, wondering where his mother was. He had always had this crazy, irrational fear that his father would end up murdering his mother and would either have fled, or be waiting inside to kill him, too. It was ridiculous, because he didn't think his dad was capable of that, but there had to be a reason he was thinking it, didn't there?

He turned into the living room and no one was there. It was oddly quiet and he didn't like it. He climbed the stairs, quietly and went to his mom's room first. He tapped lightly on the door and when there was no answer he pushed the handle down and walked inside. He saw her there, in the bed. He went closer, to make sure she was okay, then walked back outside, closing the door quietly behind him.

"Mickey."

Mickey almost jumped out of his skins at the sound of his dad's voice behind him. He turned around, heart racing and looked at his dad. He looked stern and serious, as always.

"I hear you didn't go to the game yesterday."

"C-can we do this some place else? So, we don't wake mom?"

Mickey's dad simply stared at him. Mickey didn't dare look away. After a few heart beats, his dad turned and walked towards his home office. Mickey followed behind. He walked inside and it looked the same as ever: Neat, tidy, everything in its place, just how Mickey's dad liked it.

Mickey watched as his dad went and sat in his revolving chair. Mickey stood there until he gestured for him to sit down.

"Explain."

"I joined glee club a while ago," Mickey said, voice uneven. "And the sectionals competition was on at the same time as the game and I-I didn't know what to do."

"You chose a singing contest over _football_?"

"They needed twelve members, dad," Mickey told him.

"That's not your concern," he said, looking disgusted. "That game was your chance to be recognised, Mickey. Scouts from every where were at that game. You missed your chance."

Mickey felt the urge to sigh. He wanted to scream and just leave his dad sitting there and go any where but here, but he couldn't do that.

"There will be other games, dad," Mickey said, quietly.

"That's not the point, Mickey," he said. Mickey really hated it whe he felt the need to use his name in practically every sentence. "The point is that in choosing this ridiculous singing, you've also allowed yourself to be laughed at. You'll wind up with no friends and no girlfriend and then what will you have?"

 _Ian,_ he thought. _I'll have Ian._

"Those children in glee club aren't like you, Mickey," his father went on. "You're different, special, you come from a good family, from money. Most of them live in small houses and have no money. You have everything, Mickey. A good background and talent. You can't throw that away for a silly singing competition!"

"Show choir."

"What?"

"It's show choir. That's what it's called and it's not silly," Mickey said. He was fed up, tired of everything. "I like doing it and I'm good at it."

"Show choir isn't going to get you into a top college, Mickey."

Mickey stayed quiet, because he didn't actually have an answer for that.

"And what about Quinn?"

 _Quinn_. Why did they always have to bring Quinn into it?

"What about her?" Mickey almost groaned, but thought better of it.

"Well, you two seem to be getting along fine," his father said. "If and when you do marry her, she'll need you to be able to provide for her and your family, when the time comes."

Mickey stared at his father open-mouthed. Mickey couldn't imagine having to spend the rest of his life with Quinn, even if he knew it was probably inevitable.

"Dad, I don't even like Quinn."

"You don't have to like her, Mickey. She's just the best choice for you," his dad told him and Mickey raised his eyebrows. "Do you think I like your mother?"

Mickey got angry, then. He had never stood up to his dad, not ever, but now he stood up out of his seat and leaned over the table.

"That's exactly why she's the way she is!" Mickey said, voice raising. "It's your fault! I don't want to end up like you!"

Mickey's dad stood up, too, then. He was taller than Mickey, most people were and he looked really mad. Mickey's body was shaking with anger and frustration. He clenched his fists and he could feel his finger nails digging sharply into the palms of his hands.

"Do you want to know what else I heard today from Noah Iggyerman's mother?"

Mickey knew what he was going to say. He knew he had heard the rumours (albeit true ones) about himself and Ian that Karofsky had been spreading around before they had come to an agreement.

"I can guess," Mickey said, sighing, not caring what his father thought any more. If he wanted to beat him to a pulp, so be it. At least he wouldn't die a coward, or at least not in this respect.

"Perhaps, then, you would like to enlighten me," he said, folding his arms. "Where do these rumours come from, Mickey? Do they just grow up out of the ground?"

"They come from David Karofsky being a fucking asshole," Mickey said and his father's eyes filled with intent. He was getting close to boiling point and if Mickey had had any sense, he would have apologised and gotten out of there, but he didn't.

"Language!" his father shouted. "David Karofsky is from a good family."

"So what?" Mickey said. "What is the definition of a good family anyway? Money? Never being home? Being abusive to your wife and son? Because you seem to have that one down pat, don't you, d—"

Mickey stopped, because his father had pushed him hard against the wall. Mickey wanted to push him back. He was sure he could overpower him, but there was something about hitting a parent that didn't sit right with him, so he didn't do it. He tried to hold him off, but it wasn't working.

"So, David just made up these stories about you, did he?" his dad asked, through gritted teeth as he held him firmly up against the wall. "He just decided he would tell the world you were having relations with this faggot? Just for fun?"

Mickey tried to shove away, but his dad pushed him back hard and his back hit the wall, sending the tremor of pain all through him. He groaned. He hated his dad, hated him for what he did to his mom, hated him for what he did to him, hate him for calling Ian a faggot.

"Karofsky made it up because I joined glee, that's all!" Mickey managed, his ribs aching.

"I hope so," his dad said, voice low and cutting. Mickey felt his stomach dropping. "You need to stay faithful to Quinn in order to—"

"Like you've been so faithful to mom?" Mickey spat out. He wasn't going to take this any more. He couldn't. "Don't think I don't know."

"That," Mickey's dad said, pushing him across to the desk. "Is none of your business."

Mickey lost his footing and fell back on top of the table, knocking everything off. _Good,_ he thought. His dad hated a mess.

"And what if I was gay?" Mickey said, his heart beating wildly. He had never said those words out loud before. "What could you do? Nothing."

"I'll show you what I can do!"

Mickey didn't reply because his father's fist collided with his face and Mickey's head flung back against the desk. It throbbed instantly and he felt his eyes closing a little. Then he hit him again and again and again and Mickey knew he was going to pass out from all the smacks of his head against the hard wooden table. The last thing he thought was that he wouldn't be able to text Ian back to let him know how it went. Then the world went black and the darkness consumed him, sucked him in until there was nothing, not even pain any more.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

 **7.05 P.M.**

 _How'd it go?_

 **8.32 P.M.**

 _Should I take your silence as 'really bad'?_

 **8.57 P.M.**

 _You know you can tell me, right?_

 **9.43 P.M.**

 _Mickey, answer me right now, you're freaking me out._

 **10.14 P.M.**

 _Mickey, I'm serious, now. Just one word to let me know you're okay._

 **11.01 P.M.**

 _You're making me seem like the biggest stalker alive, Mickey. Now I'm getting worried. I'm calling you._

 **11.03 P.M.**

No reply.

 **11.05 P.M.**

No reply.

 **12.02 A.M.**

 _Okay, last chance. It's after midnight. Text me back within the next ten minutes, or I'm coming over._

 **Voicemail left at 12.16 A.M.**

 _Mickey. Jesus, Mickey, pick up, you asshole. I'm going to crash my car now and it'll be all your fault. Fuck. You had better not be just ignoring me because you're having one of your moods. Shit.. Oh my God, CAN YOU STAY ON YOUR OWN SIDE OF THE ROAD, WHAT THE FUCK? Damn. Mickey, I can't believe you're doing this. Ugh. Okay, I'm almost there. I'm hanging up. Oh, God. Please just be having one of your moods..._

* * *

He felt as if he was rocking back and forth, his movements speeding up until he couldn't stop. But he wasn't moving. He was lying still. He felt the hard, cold ground beneath him and he tried to open his eyes, but it felt as if pressure was being pressed down on his skull every time he did.

The room was swaying with him in it and his body felt as if it was prickling all over and he was confused and lost and didn't know where he was, or what had happened, or what was going to happen.

He tried to open his eyes again, as he pushed himself up by the palms of his hands. Everything spun and a buzzing sound began to scream loudly in his ears. There was a sharp pain at the back of his head and the back of his neck ached. He fell back down to the ground, too weak to try to get up again. Just five more minutes sleep and he would be just fine.

* * *

Ian cursed under his breath as he stopped his car outside Mickey's house. He knew something was wrong. He could feel it. He walked up the drive way, legs wobbling a little, his heart hammering in is chest. He felt as if cold water was running down his back. Mickey's car was there, which meant he was home. This was bad.

He tapped lightly on the door, hoping, praying to a God he didn't even believe in, that someone would come to it and tell him Mickey was fine, just sleeping, or something. Or better still, that Mickey himself would come to the door and tell him he was just mad. Mad was better than in trouble. Ian would take mad.

Ian waited for 3 minutes, his anxiety levels were through the roof. He remembered feeling exactly like this when he had been told his dad had had a heart attack. He remembered feeling like this all the way to the hospital.

He wondered if he should go home, let someone else worry, maybe one of his friends. Then Ian remembered that Mickey's friends sucked. He shook his head and went around the side of the house, hoping the neighbours wouldn't think he was a burglar. That was when he saw the open window.

His heart was racing. He had never done anything like this before. He cursed Mickey under his breath for making him care, then raised himself up on to the window ledge. He could slide through there with no problem. He took a deep breath, then pushed himself through, catching the hem of his shirt on something sharp in the corner.

"Bitch," Ian muttered, as he jumped down into a room. He looked around. He appeared to be in a dining room.

The room was as intricately decorated as the rest of the house. There was a small, round table in the centre of the room, with four chairs surrounding it. Beneath the legs of the table and chairs was a large, rectangular, wine coloured rug. It had twirling gold designs all over it and it lay across a varnished, wooden floor. It looked like a perfect room where a perfect family ate a perfect dinner together. Ian would have laughed if it weren't for the man-eating butterflies that seemed to be circling inside his stomach.

Ian headed for the stairs, figuring if Mickey was home, he would most likely be in his room. He kept thinking someone would bump into him and demand he tell them what he was doing walking around their house. He wouldn't have an answer.

He reached the staircase and took a cautious step onto the first stair. It creaked and he cursed under his breath again. He waited a moment. The sound of his heart thumping made it hard to listen for anyone that might be coming his way. He sighed and continued up the stairs. When he reached the top, he looked around. There wasn't a sound. He headed to Mickey's room.

Ian knocked lightly on Mickey's bedroom door, then he thought about the fact that he shouldn't really knock. There was little that Mickey could have been doing that Ian hadn't already seen. He took the handle in his sweating hands and twisted it anti-clockwise. He pushed the door open and walked inside.

Mickey wasn't there. Everything was neat and tidy, everything in its place. The bed hadn't been slept in. Ian couldn't help thinking the worst. He opened Mickey's bathroom door and looked inside. Nothing. Now he was really worried.

He rushed out of Mickey's room, unsure of what to do. The notion of calling the police crossed his mind but he wasn't sure if he should or not. He didn't even know for definite that Mickey was in trouble.

 _Yes, you do,_ his mind said and he tried to ignore it as he walked swiftly down the hall, opening random doors as he went. Mickey's mom was in one of the rooms, under the covers of a bed. He closed that door quickly and continued on. He reached the end of the hall, after having no success and saw a final closed door. This was the only room he hadn't checked. He wasn't prepared for what might be behind it, but now was no time for being afraid. He inhaled deeply then reached out and pushed the door open.

This room appeared to be some kind of office or study. It was a mess. Pens and pencils and staplers and loose sheets of paper were scattered every where. It looked as if someone had ransacked the room and then left. It reminded Ian of the time his old house had been broken into. It had looked as if someone had picked up his house, turned it upside down and shook it. He also had the same feeling then that he did now. His insides were quivering and his heart was racing and his blood felt as if it was running cold through his veins. Something had happened and he had no idea what.

Ian turned around to leave the room. He was going to call the police. It seemed like the right thing to do. He guessed he could wake Mickey's mom and ask her, but that would have been extremely awkward. Just as he began to walk outside the room, he heard a sound behind him. His heart stilled. Ian turned around and listened carefully. He heard it again.

 _A groan._

If Ian knew anything, he knew the sound of Mickey's groans. He rolled his eyes at his own inappropriate thoughts and moved forward. Mickey was flat on his back behind the desk. He was semi-conscious and Ian let out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding.

"Mickey," Ian exhaled, dropping to his knees next to the other boy. "God, Mickey, what happened?"

* * *

"Mickey," the voice sounded like a distant echo. "Mickey, open your eyes. God, Mickey, just please open your eyes."

Maybe he was dead. Maybe that distant voice was some kind of angel. Or maybe a demon, depending on where he had ended up. It didn't sound like a demon, though. The voice was gentle and Mickey would have said calm, but the voice didn't really sound calm. It sounded alarmed, laced with fear and concern.

"Mickey, can you hear me?"

He tried to speak, tried to say yes, but nothing came. He just wanted to sleep some more.

"Don't—Mickey, don't go to sleep, wake up."

Mickey felt the tight grip on his shoulders. He was being gently shaken.

"Mickey, come on. _Please,_ Mickey," the distant voice said. It was getting closer and closer.

"A-am I dead?" he managed, his voice shaky and uneven. His throat felt like sand paper.

"No," the voice said. "No, no. You're alive. Open your eyes. Come on, Mickey, just open your eyes."

Mickey tried to pry his eyes open. They felt stuck, but he pushed anyway, because this voice, this tranquil voice wanted him to open his eyes. He managed to get them open a little, the light shocking and a little too much. His head was throbbing, especially at the back. He pulled his eyes apart and allowed them to adapt to this new light.

He saw them, then, these bright blue, glistening orbs. They were watching him, the icy gaze locked on him. They reminded him of the ocean during the summer. Everything was a little blurred and he had a chronic headache, but that blue was so familiar to him..

He opened his eyes all the way and felt himself smiling up at the owner of the stunning blue eyes and the beautiful voice. He opened his mouth and breathed his name.

" _Ian_."

* * *

"I'm calling the cops—"

"Don't!"

Ian turned back to look at Mickey. He had helped him to his room and gotten him down on the bed. Mickey had told him, rather groggily, what had happened and Ian was mad. He wanted to punch something.

"Ian, just—please d-don't, okay?"

Ian looked at Mickey. He looked terrible. His eyes were half-lidded and his hair was a mess and he looked so worn out. His eyes were filled with fear. They were pleading with him, begging him not to do anything. Ian sighed.

"Fine," he said, sitting back down. "But I'm not happy about it. Let me see your head."

Ian climbed across the bed until he was kneeling next to Mickey.

"I'm fine," Mickey said, as Ian tilted his head forward to get a look at the back.

Ian pushed his hair our of the way and felt the large bump protruding from his head.

"Damn," Ian breathed and Mickey winced at his touch. "Sorry."

Ian let his hair fall back down and sat down next to Mickey, with a sigh.

"I'm concussed," Mickey slurred out.

"Hmm?"

"I've had enough concussions to know the sym-symptoms by now," Mickey said, then yawned.

Ian frowned and wondered how badly Mickey had been hurt in the past. He wanted to get him out of there more than anything in the world. He gave in and reached down to place a hand over Mickey's. Mickey didn't pull away.

"I left you so many messages," Ian told him. "Just a heads up for when you finally check your phone. I wasn't being creepy, I just had a feeling something was up."

Mickey tilted his head to look at him and Ian saw him flinch at the pain it induced. His eyes were half-closed. He looked tired and miserable and Ian just didn't know what to do.

"I'm okay, Ian," Mickey said and Ian tried to object, tell him he was actually not okay. "Seriously, I've been through this a million times. I'll always be okay. Don't worry about me."

"Yeah, okay, Mickey. Let me just leave my feelings at the door on the way in," Ian said, rolling his eyes. As if not caring about Mickey was that easy. Mickey looked a little uncomfortable at the mention of feelings.

"You're the f-first person who's ever come looking for me, you know," Mickey said, sounding a bit dazed. "No one else has ever given a damn."

Ian gave his hand a soft squeeze. They were silent for a little while, then Ian remembered that you were supposed to keep talking to a person who had a concussion.

"So, um, do you think he'll come home? Your dad?"

"Probably not."

"I'll stay with you, if you want," Ian offered.

Mickey looked at him, his eyes were still half-lidded, but Ian could see those golden orbs peeking out at him.

"You don't h-have to," Mickey told him.

"I'll leave if you want me t—"

"That wasn't what I m-meant," Mickey corrected. "I just meant, won't y-your dad wonder where you are?"

"Well," Ian said, looking up at the small, plastic clock on Mickey's wall. "It's almost 2 A.M. Maybe I could get back before he wakes up."

"I don't want to get you in trouble."

"And I sort of want you to live," Ian retorted. "So, yeah, I'll stay."

Mickey gave him a small, grateful smile.

"Can you do me a favour?" Mickey asked, quietly, then. "Because it hurts to move."

"Anything," Ian said, with a shrug of his shoulders.

"Kiss me?"

Ian stared at him, trying to work out if he was being serious or not. Mickey nodded as much as he could and Ian blinked a couple of times.

"You don't have to if you don't want to, though," Mickey said, looking away.

Ian sighed. He couldn't remember the last time he hadn't wanted to kiss Mickey. He chuckled a bit as he leaned closer. Mickey looked up at him, curiously.

"I always want to kiss you," Ian told him, then he pressed a gentle kiss to Mickey's lips.

"I appreciate you being gentle with me right now, but I'm not going to break," Mickey told him, smiling slightly. Ian felt Mickey's fingers gripping the front of his shirt and tugging him towards him. "Come on, pretty boy. Kiss me like you mean it."

"Pretty boy?" Ian breathed against Mickey's lips, one eyebrow raised.

"I am horribly concussed, I can't be held a-accountable for the things I say," Mickey whispered back, his breath warm on Ian's skin.

"We're not having sex," Ian said, when he felt Mickey's fingers brushing their way up his thigh. "No way."

Mickey chuckled and kept moving his hand up anyway. Ian reached back and pried his hand off of his ass. Mickey pouted a bit, then winced in pain.

"Spoil sport."

"Why are you always so horny?"

"It disappoints me that you're not," Mickey giggled a little and Ian smiled.

"Are you really okay?" Ian asked, in a hushed tone.

"I'm fine," Mickey apprised him. "I don't break that easily, you know."

Ian just studied him, still smiling a bit. Mickey looked so tired. His skin was pale and his lips were dry and his movements were lethargic. The almost-yellow light coming from the light over head made him look even more sickly. Ian reached up and pushed his curls away from his forehead, then outstretched his hand to flick the light switch, leaving them in darkness.

"You should probably get some rest," Ian told him.

"You should kiss me first," Mickey smiled in what little moon light slipped through the open blind on the window. "And a real one this time."

Ian rolled his eyes, but bent his head to kiss Mickey anyway. Mickey kissed him back, lazily. Their teeth kept clacking and Mickey kept trying to go faster, but he wasn't fit for that. Ian pulled away, gently and smiled down at him.

"Now lie down and stop being so difficult," Ian demanded, jokingly.

Mickey lay back, slowly and smiled at Ian, then pulled him by the hand until he landed down next to him. Mickey didn't let his hand go.

"Hey, Ian?" Mickey whispered, in the dark.

"Yeah?"

"Thanks, okay?"

"Don't thank me, I didn't do anything."

"Yes, you did," Mickey told him. "You were here for me."

"I'll always be here for you," Ian told him.

He meant it, too. There was nowhere else he would rather be.

* * *

"Where were you last night?"

Ian stopped peeling his orange and looked up at his dad, eyes wide. Frank was watching him, expectantly, waiting for an answer. Ian figured honesty was the best policy. He sighed.

"I was at Mickey's."

Frank looked alarmed, then, his forehead tightening.

"I thought you said he had a girlfriend," Frank said, accusingly. "And that he was an ass."

"He does have a girlfriend, dad," Ian groaned a little. "And he's still an ass, just maybe not as much of an ass as I initially believed."

Ian was pretty sure now that Mickey wasn't really an ass. He was just sort of letting things pilot his life, instead of doing it himself. He wasn't a bad person, not really.

"So, you just spent the night at this guy's house—this guy who has a girlfriend?"

"Dad, it's not like that," Ian said, even though that's exactly how it was.

"Tell me how it is, then, Ian."

Ian wavered here. He wasn't sure he should tell anyone about Mickey's personal problems, but maybe Frank would know what to do, because Ian was at a loss.

"We've been sort of hanging out," Ian shrugged. It was difficult to explain how they were at ease with one another without adding the fact that their relationship was more than just platonic. "He's been telling me about his family and stuff. His dad is extremely abusive and the other day, Mickey went to sectionals instead of his football game, so his dad got really mad and sort of, um..."

"Sort of what?"

"He sort of beat him up," Ian said, mildly. "Actually, he smashed his head repeatedly off of a wooden desk."

Frank looked appalled. "He did that to his own son?"

Ian nodded. "Yes and I texted Mickey a few times, then called him and got no reply, so I went over there."

"Ian—"

"His dad wasn't home," Ian explained. "But I found Mickey and he was in a bad state. He had a concussion, so I stayed with him to make sure he was okay."

Frank looked sort of proud. He reached out and gave Ian a pat on the shoulder.

"That was good of you, Ian," he said. "So, he was okay?"

"I think so," Ian shrugged. Mickey had been fairly normal when he had left him alone that morning. He'd tried to open his jeans again, so he couldn't have been too sick.

"I know there's something you're not telling me, Ian."

Ian looked up at his dad, who was wearing an expression that said _I know._ He couldn't know, though, how could he? Ian tried to think of ways he might have let it slip, but beyond looking like a lovesick puppy, he couldn't come up with anything.

"I told you everything, dad," Ian said, quickly.

"We don't lie to each other, remember?"

They had made that pact after Ian's mom had died, when he was eight. They promised they would always be honest with each other, because being honest always meant that if one had a problem, the other might be able to help.

"Fine," Ian sighed, feeling defeated. "I might be in love with him." He had never admitted that out loud, he hadn't even really admitted it to himself, but it was true. He was falling harder and harder every day and he didn't know what to do about it.

"Does his girlfriend know he's gay?"

Ian's head shot up to look at his dad.

"Mickey's not gay, dad."

"Are you kidding me?" Frank chuckled, taking a sip of coffee from his cup. "I knew that kid was gay the second I set eyes on him."

Ian let his jaw drop. Apparently, his dad had super, awesome gaydar. And apparently, everyone knew Mickey was gay, except for Mickey himself.

"No," Ian said, giving in. "His girlfriend doesn't know. At least, not really."

"What do you mean 'not really'?"

Ian told him the story about Karofsky spreading rumours and how everyone has made assumptions, simply because Mickey had chosen glee over football. Frank nodded at the end of it and looked right at Ian, their eyes level.

"And these rumours," he said. "Are they true?"

 _We'll always be honest with each other, Ian. Always._

"Yes."

Frank closed his eyes and exhaled hard.

"But he has a girlfriend, Ian."

"I know that, dad," Ian said. "Do you think I don't know that? Do you think I don't stay awake at night thinking about that?"

Ian didn't hate Quinn Fabray. He didn't exactly like her, but he didn't hate her, either. He just wished she would go away sometimes. And not in a creepy 'I-would-go-to-great-lengths-to-get-rid-of-her' way, either. He just didn't like that she was only with Mickey for stature and that she didn't even listen to him, or worry about him.

"Ian, the boy's having his cake and eating it, too," Frank said and Ian raised an eyebrow. "You can't accept him using you—"

"He's not using me, dad."

"Of course, you think that," Frank said. "But Ian, he's goin' around with that girl in public and hiding you from the world."

Ian almost laughed, because he was suddenly finding parallels in his own life to 'Jane Eyre'. He didn't laugh, though, because the entire situation seemed so grave.

"I raised you better than that, Ian," Frank said. "If he's not willin' to tell everyone that you're with him, then he's not worthy of you."

Ian smiled up at his dad, his eyes suddenly teary. He loved his dad. He always told him the truth, even if it was something he didn't want to hear.

"I know, dad," Ian nodded. "But he's not a bad guy, he's just a little lost."

"Lost or not," Frank said, sitting back. "If he's not treatin' you right, then you can't sit back and take that. Stand up for yourself. No one pushes the Gallaghers around, right?"

Ian smiled, then and his dad smiled back a little. He wasn't the overly affectionate type, but Ian was so grateful to him for everything.

"Right," Ian affirmed.

"Good," Frank said. "Now, get yourself ready. The traffic will be hectic with people doing last minute Christmas shopping."

* * *

"Oh my God," Ian gasped when Mickey walked into English later that day. "Your eyes."

When Mickey had woken up that morning, he had looked in the mirror to find that he had two black eyes from the knocking around his dad had given him. Never had he cursed anyone so hard in all his life.

He guessed Quinn was right, that black eyes sort of did make him look tough and badass, so he didn't mind coming to school looking like this too much. Now, however, he wished he hadn't because the horror on Ian's face made him want to do something crazy, like cry and Mickey hadn't cried in four years.

"It's not as bad as it looks," Mickey said sliding into his seat, his arm brushing off Ian's. He heard Ian sighing beside him. He sounded fed up, tired and like he was about to give up. "What?" Mickey asked.

"Nothing," Ian said, shaking his head. "Just—my dad figured it all out this morning."

Mickey went alert all over, like a cat. "He—what part?"

" _All of it_ ," Ian said. "He asked where I was last night, so I told him and then he said he knew there was something else." Ian's voice dropped a notch lower. "Then he asked me if your girlfriend knew you were gay."

"What the hell?"

"Right?" Ian said, opening his book. "It's like you're the only one who doesn't know."

"I'm not—"

"Save it for someone who didn't make out with you on your bed at 2 A.M. this morning, Mickey."

* * *

"Dude, it's the only way to show everyone the truth!"

"I have a headache," Mickey said, gesturing to his black eyes. He had told Iggy and the others that he'd gotten in a fight with some random guys when he went to buy milk for his mom. They bought it, just as he had expected they would.

Iggy rolled his own eyes. "You don't need your head to be in perfect condition for this," Iggy informed him. "He's small, skinny. You could take him with your eyes closed."

 _And I have_ , Mickey thought, but he didn't think pointing that out would do him any good, especially since Iggy was talking about taking Ian in a different way entirely, a way that Mickey definitely did not want to take him.

"Come on, Mickey," Azimio said. "Squash these stupid rumours for good."

Mickey sighed. He didn't want to hurt Ian, he _wouldn't_ hurt Ian, but he was threading a thin line. People were laughing at him behind his back and he just wasn't used to that. He didn't know how to handle that. Things were already bad with his dad and if he didn't fix he didn't even want to think about what might happen. Maybe military school was in his future.

"All you gotta do is give the kid a light beating," Iggy said, patting Mickey hard on the back. He jumped a little. "Do it for the team, Mickey. You already let us down with the game. _You owe us._ "

Mickey hated owing people, which was why he never took anything from anyone for free. Owing people meant they had something over you. He couldn't owe anyone.

"When?"

"Why not now?" Iggy grinned, his eyes flashing.

"Where?" Mickey asked. He felt sick. This wasn't how things were supposed to be. He didn't ever want to hurt Ian.

"We'll figure it out," Iggy said. "Come on."

Mickey watched Iggyerman and Azimio walk away. He stayed still for a second, his head spinning. He pushed away the urge to vomit as best as he could and followed the other guys.

Regardless of what Ian thought, Mickey knew the cold, hard truth: Mickey Mickey was not a good person.

* * *

The crash of his back against the side of the metal locker sent a stabbing pain all down his spine. It had all happened so fast and now he was being held up against the locker by two strong hands.

"What the f—"

"Don't talk, Gallagher," Iggy said, pushing Ian roughly back. "I don't like these rumours being spread about my bro, Mickey."

"Well, maybe you should ask your _bro_ , Karofsky why he's spreading them," Ian retorted.

Iggy went on as if Ian hadn't even spoken. "So, we're going to teach you a lesson for being so _gay_ ," Iggy snarled. "Mickey here is going to make sure there's no cause for these stinkin' rumours around here any more."

Ian mentally questioned his word order, because it was confusing, but he stayed quiet anyway, his eyes going to Mickey, who stood a few steps behind Iggy, next to Azimio. Azimio was laughing, but Mickey just looked like he wanted to sit down and close his bruised eyes.

Ian just wanted to shake him until he realised he was going about things all wrong. Choosing glee over football was a step in the right direction, but now he plummeting back downhill.

"Mickey," Iggy grinned, expecting Mickey to take over.

Mickey wavered, then stepped forward as Iggy stepped back. Mickey stopped and looked down the hall.

"I hear Figgins," he said and he looked sincere, even though Ian knew Figgins was not any where nearby.

Iggy and Azimio looked down the hall.

"I don't hear nothin'," Azimio said.

"Dude, I'm telling you Figgins is coming," Mickey said, looking at his friend.

"Fine, whatever, we can do this some place else," Iggy said and Ian saw Mickey sighing silently.

"Like where?"

"Uh," Iggy looked confused. He tended to look confused very frequently anyway, so this wasn't really anything new. "I know!"

Ian, Mickey and Azimio watched as Iggy walked across the hall, a smug smile on his face, clearly happy that he had actually come up with an idea. Ian wondered if he should applaud him, but he decided that probably wouldn't help him if they were going to beat him up. At least he could probably count on Mickey going light on him.

Iggy reached out and pulled the janitor's closet open, the infamous janitor's closet. Ian rolled his eyes. This was his big idea. All four of them wouldn't even fit in there, there was no way.

Azimio reached out with his big hand and tugged Ian across to where Iggy stood. Iggy reached out then and pushed Ian inside the closet. He collided with an equipment trolley then stumbled and hit the hard, cement ground. That was going to leave a bruise.

Ian looked up at the exact time that Iggy pushed Mickey in after him.

"Have fun, Mickey," Iggy laughed loudly. "We'll be out here keeping watch."

The door closed with a loud bang and Mickey's body went loose. He sighed and looked down at Ian in the dim light of the over head bulb, that hung from the ceiling. Mickey extended a hand to Ian, which he took and allowed him to pull him to his feet.

"Are you okay?" Mickey asked, quietly.

"How are you going to get out of this one?" Ian said, ignoring Mickey's question.

Mickey sighed again and shook his head.

"Just.. act like your hurt, or something, I don't know."

"They'll be listening, you know," Ian whispered. "They'll know."

Panic swept over Mickey's face and he stood up straight. Ian watched as he walked across the room, then raised his arm and started punching the old, broken lockers in the corner.

"Mickey!" Ian hissed and reached out to grab his arm back. "What the fuck, Mickey? Stop that!"

"They're listening," Mickey whispered. "I have to make some sort of noise. It might help if you did some groaning, too."

Mickey lifted his arm again, fist clenched, bur Ian pushed him backwards until he was against the wall.

"What are you—"

"Do you have some kind of masochistic streak?"

"What? I—"

"Mickey, stop punching things, okay?" Ian said, his blue eyes level with Mickey's.

"But they—"

"I don't care," Ian said, then sighed. "Look, maybe you should just hit me."

Mickey's hazel eyes went round as saucers and his mouth dropped open.

"Are you kidding me?" he demanded. "I am not—"

"I don't mind," Ian said. "If it'll make them lay off you, I'm okay with it."

Mickey's face twisted and he looked distraught. "You think I'd hit you just so that they'd leave me alone?"

Ian hadn't really thought that far ahead. He had suggested it without really considering Mickey's stance on it. He simply shrugged.

"I wouldn't ever," Mickey shook his head. "Now, move back, I need to.."

Mickey moved forward and continued to punch the lockers fiercely, groaning every time his fist crashed down against the hard metal. Ian continued to try to stop him, but it was no use. He took a step back and sighed. That was when he got his idea. He waited, watched Mickey's pace, as he retracted his arm and plunged it forward again and again. When he thought he knew the rhythm well enough, Ian waited until Mickey moved his arm backwards, then he moved forward and landed right in front of Mickey as his fist came crashing forward. It struck Ian's left cheek painfully and Ian cried out, but so did Mickey.

Ian watched as Mickey stepped back, his face a mask of sheer horror. Ian lifted his own hand to rub his injured face and then Mickey was shouting at him.

"What are you—Oh my God. Why would you—Ian. _Fuck_. I cannot believe you—Are you an idiot?"

Ian rolled his eyes and it hurt, because Mickey packed a mean punch. Mickey stopped yelling then and moved towards Ian.

"Let me see," he said, softly. He pushed Ian's hand out of the way and studied his throbbing cheek. "Fuck, Ian. Why would you do this?"

Mickey sounded as if he might cry. Ian hadn't ever seen Mickey cry, but this was the closest he had come to it since he had met him. His hands were cradling his face, his fingers gentle. Mickey looked distraught, his eyes were sad and his bottom lip was caught between his teeth.

"I'm fine," Ian told him. "Honestly, it doesn't hurt that badly."

"Ian, I can't believe you would..." Mickey trailed off and he closed his eyes. He took a deep inhale, Ian could see his chest rising slowly in the bleak light. When he exhaled, he opened his eyes and looked right at Ian, his head shaking ever so slightly. "This is officially the worst week of my life."

Ian's cheek was pulsating now. It hurt every time he blinked, every time he opened his mouth. He forced himself to speak anyway.

"I figure they would have made it much worse if I had left this closet without a mark on me," he whispered.

Mickey sighed silently. "Ian, stop protecting me, okay? I don't want you to protect me from them."

"Why?"

"Because you end up getting hurt," Mickey told him. "I don't know any more. I wish I'd never dragged you into this." He sighed again, tiredly. "This wasn't supposed to happen."

Ian studied him for a minute. He looked like he was about to fall apart. He wanted to go to him, wrap him up in his arms and tell him he would always protect him, because even though Mickey was still giving in to Iggy and those guys, that didn't change the fact that Ian really, really cared about him. He didn't take him in his arms, however, because he and Mickey had a less touchy-feely relationship, when it came to affection that wasn't sexual.

"I don't regret it, you know," Ian apprised him, firmly, his cheek still throbbing painfully. He wondered what it must look like now. "I don't regret one second of our time together, even if you do."

Mickey's golden eyes flashed briefly as he gave Ian a surprised look.

"No," Mickey uttered. "No, I don't regret this, us. I don't. I just wish—I just wish things were easier."

"Me, too."

They stayed silent for a little while, then Mickey's hand was tilting Ian's head sideways as he squinted to examine his cheek.

"How bad do I look?" Ian asked, smiling a bit. It hurt when he smiled. His face felt stiff and sore.

"You never look bad," Mickey told him, his voice low and gentle. "I'm sorry."

"Why are you sorry?" Ian asked. "I'm the one that did it."

"It's my fault we're even in this mess in the first place," Mickey said, his fingers lingering on Ian's face. "You're right. I'm a coward."

Ian shrugged one shoulder. Mickey's cowardice was something he couldn't really deny. He was afraid of confrontation, afraid of showing who he really was.

He raised his glimmering, honey-coloured eyes to Ian's and said, "I'll make this up to you, I promise."

"Mickey, blow jobs don't count."

Mickey spluttered, just as Ian hoped he would. He wished he would just smile and get over it. On the other hand, Ian was a little pleased that Mickey had been so beat up about hurting him. It meant he gave a damn.

"Seriously, though, I will," he smiled, sadly, his thumb brushing lightly over the line of Ian's jaw. "I never, ever want to hurt you, Ian. God. Why would you do something so dumb?"

Ian sighed. His stomach did a little somersault when Mickey said he never wanted to hurt him, but he needed to set him straight regarding the entire situation. "Mickey, look," he began. "Hitting me isn't really the point here and while I'm not exactly mad at you,—I know you're going through a lot, so it's not really anger—I just can't help but point out that the point is that you agreed to coming inside this closet to beat me up. I mean, I know you wouldn't do it, I know that, I do, but the thought does count, Mickey. Coming in here with me and pretending to hurt me doesn't make it okay, you know?"

Mickey nodded. He looked like a puppy who had just been kicked. "I know that," Mickey told him. "Like I said, I'm a coward."

"You're getting better, though," Ian smiled, because nobody wanted to see a kicked puppy. "Did you break your hand?" Ian asked, changing the subject. He took Mickey's hand in his own. It was shaking a little and red raw from punching the lockers. Ian was shocked that the skin hadn't broken.

"It's fine," Mickey stated.

"I think you've had enough of a beating without doing this to yourself," Ian frowned.

"It felt good to take my anger out on something, even if my hand looks like it does," Mickey said, studying his red hand. "I just wasn't counting on you jumping in there like that."

"That was sort of the point," Ian told him. "Maybe we should get out of here. They'll be wondering.."

Mickey suddenly looked really angry, his dark browns furrowed and his eyes went a shade darker. He clenched his fists and sighed hard. Ian almost expected to see smoke coming from his ears.

"Relax," Ian whispered, his face still aching. He was going to need an ice pack.

"No," Mickey said. "I want to kill both of them."

"I think you should avoid fights for the next while," Ian told him.

Mickey looked at him, his head tilted a little. He sighed for what had to be the hundredth time that day. He reached across then and took Ian's hand in his own, the one that he hadn't punched the lockers with. He entwined his fingers with Ian's and gave his hand a gentle squeeze.

"You know I'm sorry, right?" Mickey emitted. "For everything?"

Ian looked down at him. He looked sincerely sorry and Ian knew that he was sorry. He just wished there was something they could do about it.

"I know," he nodded. "Now go out there and act like your arm hurts from punching."

"It sort of does," Mickey chuckled.

They let go of each other's hands and Mickey pushed the door open and stepped out. His expression went dark again when he laid eyes on Iggy and Azimio. Ian limped out after him, breathing heavily. He let out little whining sounds as he began walking down the hall, away from them. He heard Iggy and Azimio laughing and shouting names after him. Then he heard Iggy asking Mickey something.

"Don't talk to me," Mickey said, gruffly and Ian turned to see him storming off in the other direction.

Maybe he wasn't such a hopeless case, after all.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16:**

 **December 25th at 10.33 A.M.**

To: Ian.

 _I never did find out if you celebrated Christmas, but if you do, Merry Christmas and if you don't, have a good Tuesday. -Mickey._

 **December 25th at 10.36 A.M.**

To: Mickey.

 _You and my dad both got me the same perfume. -Q._

 **December 25th at 10.37 A.M.**

To: Mickey.

 _Merry Christmas, Mickey :) -Ian._

 **December 25th at 10.41 A.M.**

To: Ian.

 _Hope your face is okay._

 **January 1st at 00.01 A.M.**

To: Mickey.

 _Happy New Year, Mickey!_

 **January 1st at 00.02 A.M.**

To: Ian.

 _Back atcha. I miss talking to you._

 **January 1st at 00.05 A.M.**

To: Mickey.

 _Me, too. Not long now until school. I'll see you then._

 **January 1st at 00.06 A.M.**

To: Ian.

 _I guess._

 **January 1st at 00.11 A.M.**

To: Mickey.

 _Cheer up, it's the new year! Plus, we're back to assignments, so it'll be back to our corner in the library, with whatsherface shooting us dirty looks. Don't tell me that's not cause for a smile._

 **January 1st at 00.15 A.M.**

To: Ian.

 _And this is why I miss you._

* * *

 **1 NEW MESSAGE FROM: Mickey.**

 _Morning. Quick text to tell you to get the word around the glee kids that they should bring extra clothes to school. Also, wear a hat, or something. I'm sorry. See you later-B._

Ian raised his eyebrows and re-read the text six times, before sending a group message to everyone from glee club. Mickey never ceased to amaze him.

* * *

"Ian!"

Ian swung around from his locker to see Rachel running towards him, grinning from ear to ear. She flung her arms around him before he could open his mouth to speak.

"Eeeeek!" she squealed, squeezing Ian harder.

"Rachel," Ian choked out. "You're.. ow, Rachel."

"Oh!" Rachel pulled away, but her hands were still gripping Ian's arms. "Sorry! How was your break?"

"Fine," Ian said, slowly. "Why are you so happy?"

Rachel took a step back and Ian couldn't help cringing at her outfit. She was wearing a chocolate brown sweater, with a white bear silhouette on it. A frilled collar extended from the round neck of her sweater. At the bottom was a knee-length, red and white plaid, tweed skirt. Over this, she wore a see-through raincoat. The hood was up and her perfectly straight, dark hair fell down past her shoulders and stopped with a straight edge. She wore pristine white, knee socks and black, patent leather, shoes with thick straps across them, which closed at the sides with small gold buckles.

Ian realised then that Rachel had been speaking while he was judging her child-like dress sense.

"Um, what?" Ian said, shaking his head. "Sorry, I wasn't listening. Your sweater is seriously distracting."

"You like it?" Rachel beamed, looking down at her awful attire. "One of my dads' friends got it for me as a Christmas gift. Apparently, they forgot we don't celebrate Christmas, but it's still cute, right?"

"Rachel," Ian breathed, still shaking his head. "As your friend, I'm going to advise you to never, ever, ever wear this ever again. In fact, clear out your entire closet and let me take you shopping."

Rachel's face fell. Her dark eyes were wide and she was frowning. "You —you don't like how I dress?"

Ian opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again.

"Never mind that," Ian said, changing the subject. "Why were you so excited again?"

Rachel's face lit up once again and she clasped her hands together.

"Okay!" she said, enthusiastically. "I came to school early today, because I wanted to talk to Mr Schue about a list of songs I compiled over the break, that we could choose from for regionals. I have a lot of amazing songs on there, Ian, I think you'll really like them. I mean, you're a fan of musicals, right? I have a range of songs that covers everything from 'Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat' to 'Wicked'." Rachel was making all kinds of gestures with her hands as she spoke, rather quickly. Ian could only stare. "I've even got 'Phantom' on there. You like 'Phantom', right, Ian? I think you could pull off a great Christine, of course, but I think I would be much more of a suitable choice, don't you? I also added the songs of our generation, because I think the judges would appreciate the variety and so, I have some Usher on there, some Rascal Flatts, some Beyonce—"

"Rachel," Ian said, finally. "Rachel, please stop talking. Is this why you were so excited? Because of a _list of songs_?"

Rachel looked confused for a split second, then she shook her head. "Oh!" she exclaimed. "No! No, I almost forgot! So, I found Mr Schuester on his way to the teacher's lounge and I told him about my list and he said it was great, that he would look it over and consider some of my choices," she said, looking very proud of herself. "And then he told me that we have two possible new members! Isn't that great? You can never have enough back-up singers, Ian. Did you know that when Vocal Adrenaline started out—"

"Rachel," Ian said, trying to bring her back down to earth. "I get it."

"Oh, well," Rachel cleared her throat and brushed her thighs down. "Just thought you'd like to know. I don't know who they are, but it's a promising start to the new year! See you later, Ian!"

Ian watched her as she disappeared down the hall, head held high. Maybe Rachel didn't know who the possible new members of New Directions were, but Ian was definitely aware of the identity of one of them.

* * *

It was the first school day of the new year and Mickey already felt sick. Iggy, Karofsky and Azimio were standing by Mickey's locker. A minute later, one of the other guys, Greg, arrived, a cup holder in his hand. In the cup holder, were four red cups, overflowing with slushies of different colours and flavours. Greg held a fifth cup in his other hand.

Mickey watched as Iggy, Azimio and Karofsky laughed and leaned across to pull a cup from the holder each. Iggy turned to Mickey and his eyes seemed to be urging him to take one, too. Mickey sighed silently, then reached across and took the last cup, the one filled with red, flavoured ice.

"Let's go," Iggy grinned.

They began walking down the hall towards Rachel Berry's locker. Azimio had overheard Sam Evans saying that Rachel had called a glee club meeting at 8.45 by her locker. Mickey hadn't gotten a text, except for the one from Ian who had asked if he was going. Mickey hadn't texted back. He was going all right, but he wasn't going for the same reasons the others were, even if he wished he was.

He saw them, then, all standing there in a large circle, laughing and chatting away. The part that surprised and amused Mickey the most was that they were all dressed in raincoats that came to their ankles, all in different colours and styles. They all had their hoods up, covering their heads. Mickey grinned. This had been Ian's idea, he was sure of it.

His heart managed to skip a beat when he laid eyes on Ian for the first time since before Christmas. He looked as perfect as always, his hair inside the hood styled as it usually was, his pale skin smooth and unflawed. His upturned lips were still that same candy pink and his eyes—God, those _eyes—_ were still that crazy, cyan blue. As he went closer, Mickey could see the various colours mingled in the centre.

Ian looked at him and the others turned to look at him, Iggy, Azimio, Karofsky and Greg, too. There faces were stern and confident and Mickey couldn't resist the small smile that was dancing on the corners of his lips.

"Happy new year, gay club!" Iggy shouted and he threw the contents of his cup in their direction. His slushie attacked Rachel's coat and dripped down the smooth material easily. Some of it landed on Brittany, who simply reached up to run her finger through it, before proceeding to lick it off. Karofsky followed Iggy's lead, his slushie ending up over Sam and Finn, the splashes from it colliding with Artie. Azimio's hit Tina, Mike and Mercedes and Greg's hit Rory and Santana and some of it landed on Ian's protected arm.

The glee club's eyes went to Mickey, then. The others were walking on, laughing and high-fiving one another. Mickey looked at the glee club's expectant faces, then down at the cup in his hand. The ice was floating at the top and looking freezing cold. He raised it up and emptied it on the floor, before walking on, leaving them standing there with their mouths hanging open. Mickey heard them talking as he walked away.

"Did Mickey Milkovich just...?"

"I can't believe he did that."

"I think we imagined it. Mickey Milkovich would not pass up a chance to slushie us."

"Yet, there lies his strawberry slushie."

"But _why_ would he do that?"

"Maybe he's not so bad after all."

* * *

"Hey."

Ian looked up from his locker and saw Mickey coming towards him, looking as gorgeous as ever. His hair was gelled back, his eyes were shining and golden and as pretty as ever and he was smiling, too. Ian looked behind him, then back at Mickey.

"Um, why are you talking to me in public?"

Mickey looked confused for a moment, then waved an arm.

"We're still English partners, people won't twig anything," Mickey told him.

"Okay," Ian said, slowly. "In that case, hey back at you."

Mickey's smile grew and he leaned against the locker two up from Ian's.

"That stunt with the raincoats this morning?" Mickey said, almost excitedly. " _Genius_."

"Some of my best work, if I do say so myself," Ian said, grinning.

Mickey laughed and it made his eyes light up. They looked like burning embers, all oranges and browns. Ian allowed his eyes to drink him in. He looked down at his grey shirt under his letterman jacket. It was tight enough that it defined his chest. Ian shuddered a little as he remembered what he looked like without it. His jeans were also well-defining. Ian had to look away when he thought about what Mickey looked like without those, his cheeks burning up almost instantly.

"I think everyone is very surprised after the stunt _you_ pulled this morning," Ian told him. "I was impressed, I must say."

He had felt a strange sense of proudness after Mickey had emptied that slushie over the tiles and not over anyone's head. He helped him reach this point, Mickey was finding himself more and more every single day.

"Yeah," Mickey looked a little uncomfortable, his bright eyes dropping to the ground, his feet shifting.

Ian smiled affectionately at how adorable Mickey looked when he was feeling shy, or ill at ease. He decided to change the subject, however, because Mickey seemed to be struggling to find a reply.

"So, is Quinn still joining glee?"

Mickey's face fell and he looked tired again. "I haven't seen her yet, today. I'm hoping not."

"Rachel says that Mr Schue told her we may have two new members. I'm assuming she is one of them."

Mickey sighed, sounding frustrated. "Great," he said, not without sarcasm. "She's been going on and on at me because her dad got her the same perfume that I got her for Christmas. I've been avoiding her like the plague. That's a conversation I do not want to have."

Ian laughed a little. "You got your girlfriend of two years perfume for Christmas?" Ian asked with some amusement. "Isn't there some sort of relationship rule that says it should be, like, I don't know, jewellery, or something?"

Mickey grimaced and shook his head. "I'm shocked she's not demanding I propose by now, or something."

Ian frowned a bit at the idea of Mickey and Quinn being engaged—or worse—married.

"I would have totally gotten you something, by the way," Mickey said, quickly, his eyes finding Ian's. "But I literally had no idea what to get. It was hard enough to come up with something for your birthday.."

Mickey trailed off and Ian saw his eyes dropping to Ian's hands. Ian lifted his sleeve a little, to show him he was still wearing the bracelet. Mickey's smile returned then and his eyes raised to meet Ian's again.

"Um," Mickey said. "And I didn't know if you even celebrated it so.."

"It's okay," Ian said. "I didn't get you anything , either, so we're even."

Mickey nodded, looking relieved.

"Actually, we're not even, are we?" Ian said, thoughtfully. "When's your birthday, anyway?"

Mickey straightened up a little bit. "Actually, what a coincidence. Next week. The 19th," Mickey told him. "My parents insist on me having a party, because 'it wouldn't be fair if I didn't', whatever that means. So, like.." Mickey trailed off and fought for words. "Will you come?"

"To your party," Ian said, slowly. "Where it will be all those popular kids and me."

"Actually," Mickey stated. "I was thinking the glee club could come."

Ian gaped at Mickey. He really, really never ceased to amaze him.

"Is this—is this some kind of trap?"

Mickey's eyebrows furrowed and his eyes filled with hurt. "You still think I'd do that to you?" he asked in a whisper.

Ian sighed and shook his head. "Guess not. Though I don't know what they tell you to do, do I?"

"I'd tell you if it was," Mickey said. "Seriously, I'm supposed to invite my friends. That's what my mom said. 'Tell all your friends to come, honey!'," Mickey imitated. Ian smiled at his awful impersonation of a female voice. "So, if I'm supposed to tell all my friends to come, you should definitely be there, right?"

Ian tilted his head sideways and glowered. "Because we're friends?" he said, quietly.

Mickey's eyes narrowed in confusion, then it seemed to dawn on him.

"Oh," he said. "Oh, I didn't—Ian. I know we're sort of—well. More than just, you know, friends." It was easy to see he was struggling with this statement, but Ian let him go on, because he needed to know if Mickey really only thought of him as a friend, when for Ian, Mickey was so much more than just that. "I mean, we—we're—well. It's more than that. It is. I know it is. But you're my friend, too, right? I mean, just because we're..."

Ian watched as Mickey searched hard for the right words. Ian's heart was beating quickly as he mentally urged Mickey to go on, to just tell him what he saw their entire relationship as.

"Just because we're in this—this _relationship_ ," Mickey said and Ian could deal with that. Relationship was good. He had been expecting him to say 'doing stuff', or 'having sex', or something equally as awful. At least 'relationship' implied feelings. "It doesn't mean we're not friends, too. I promise you it's more than that, though. I just.. I don't know how to say it without feeling like an asshole."

Ian smiled and Mickey's expression changed to one of relief.

"You'll come?"

"Yeah, I'll come," Ian told him. "But do you really want me to invite the glee club, or were you just saying that?"

"No," Mickey said. "I meant it and actually, I'll even invite them myself. Impressed?" Mickey smirked, one eyebrow raising.

"Very," Ian said, smirking back.

"Mickey!" a voice said, behind Ian. "There you are!"

Ian knew it was Quinn before he turned around. He couldn't resist rolling his eyes. Quinn walked up, wearing her Cheerios uniform and leaned across to kiss Mickey. Her eyes were on Ian as she did and Ian looked away.

"Quinn, what are you—Quinn!" Mickey said, sounding strangled. He took a step back. "We're in the middle of the school halls, are you nuts?"

Quinn simply laughed and then turned to look at Ian. She looked him from head to toe and then back up again, then turned her gaze back on Mickey.

"What are you doing talking to him?" she asked, as if Ian wasn't even there.

"Quinn, stop," Mickey sighed. "We're partnered for English, remember? We were discussing our next assignment."

Quinn looked sceptical. "Which is what?"

Ian cut in, locking his eyes with Quinn's. "It's on Rochester's crazy wife. The one he kept locked in the attic. The assignment is based around how he managed to find and fall in love with Jane, even though he already had a wife."

Ian saw Mickey's hazel eyes flash with amusement, as he tried to stifle a smile. Quinn narrowed her eyes at Ian, then turned back to look at Mickey, her high pony swinging around behind her.

"You shouldn't be seen with him, you know," she told him. "It's bad enough that people were thinking it, they don't need to see you talking with him, too!"

"We're just friends—"

" _Friends?"_ Quinn exploded and Ian couldn't deny that his mind had screamed the exact same thing. Since when was Mickey admitting _that_ in public?

Mickey looked panicked for a split second, then he shook his head, calmly. "Why do you make a big deal out of everything?" he sighed. "And you're totally talking about him as if he's not standing there."

Ian raised an eyebrow at that. Mickey wasn't completely degrading him around his friends—well, his girlfriend, anyway—any more. This was a good sign, a step in the right direction.

"Oh, I'm sorry, what would you like me to do?" Quinn shot back. "Do you want me to do what you're doing? Do you want me to sleep with him? Would that make it all right?"

Ian's eyes widened and Mickey's mouth hung open. They both spoke at the same time.

"I'm not—"

"We're not—"

"Yeah, Mickey, _I_ know that," Quinn said. "But you see all of these people?" She gestured around at the other students walking up and down the halls. "They won't think that. Karofsky has already spread these rumours, seeing you with him will only clarify them."

Mickey opened his mouth to protest, but Quinn had turned away from him. She scowled at Ian, her eyes darkening.

"You need to stay away from my boyfriend," she stated. "I'm serious. He is not gay! So, you need to stop making eyes at him and kissy faces and trying to get into his pants!"

"Quinn!" Mickey interjected, but she kept going.

"I am seriously warning you... Actually, I don't even know your name—In fact, I don't even _want_ to know your name! I just need you to keep your eyes off my boyfriend, okay? You're making him look bad!"

"Don't you mean it's making _you_ look bad?" Ian asked, never dropping his eyes from Quinn's. Quinn looked up at him, questioningly. "I mean, that is what you meant, right? That Mickey doing these out of character things makes you look bad? Isn't that your main worry, Quinn?"

"You don't even know me, faggo—"

"Okay," Mickey interrupted. "Okay, no name calling. Can we just drop this now?"

"Actually, Quinn, I don't have to know you to know what you're like," Ian said, ignoring Mickey. "I've seen a million girls exactly like you. All you care about is being popular and everything else—and everyone else—can go to hell, just so long as people go on thinking you're perfect, that you have it all, but do you know what, Quinn? I can see past that and if I can see past that, I'm sure a lot of others can, too. So, yes, you can call me a faggot, that's cool, it's nice that you express your homophobia for all to hear, even though you're supposed to be the perfect girl, but I want you to do something, okay?"

"Ian, I don't—"

"I want you to go home and open up your computer," Ian went on as if Mickey hadn't spoken. "Go on Google, because I doubt you actually know how to use a dictionary, let alone own one, I want you to type 'faggot definition' into the search bar. And just in case you don't do it, I'll tell you what you would get. Google will tell you that faggot is a male homosexual. It will also tell you it's _offensive._ But see the thing is, Quinn, I actually _am_ a male homosexual, but if I type in the word 'perfect' and look for a definition, it will give me something like 'unflawed', or 'as good as it is possible to be', but you're neither of those, are you? No, because none of us are perfect and the sooner you accept that, the sooner you'll be able to actually be happy in your life.

"Right now, you're desperate, I can see that. You're desperate to be perceived as this perfect, unflawed girl and you'll do anything to make that happen, which is kind of scary, isn't it? That you'll go to any lengths to achieve that? Even if it means your boyfriend is going to be miserable in the process. I know what it's like to want something so bad that you're willing to do anything," Ian said, with a glance at Mickey. "But there has to be a line you stop at, a line you just don't cross. Otherwise, you'll do something that you'll never be able to go back on and that's when you'll be sorry."

Both Quinn and Mickey were staring at him with their eyes wide and their lips apart. Ian hoped Mickey would take that in, too, that he would think about it again later.

"What about him?" Quinn asked, pointing at Mickey behind her. "Do you have some kind of—of crazy, made-up theory about him, too?"

Ian looked at Mickey and frowned a little. "He knows exactly what he needs to do," Ian said, locking his eyes with Mickey's, which were filled with surprise and shock. "But unlike you, Quinn, he's working at it."

Quinn scowled back at Mickey, who just continued to look at Ian. She looked back at Ian when she saw Mickey wasn't going to say anything.

"Stay away from my boyfriend!"

"Well, maybe if your boyfriend didn't keep..." Ian trailed off, because Mickey's eyes widened further and he got this look of sheer panic on his face and Ian had to ground himself, because telling Quinn about himself and Mickey would be wrong on so many levels. For one, it wasn't his place. Secondly, Mickey wasn't ready for that and as much as Quinn annoyed Ian, as much as he felt like screaming at her that she knew nothing about Mickey, he couldn't do that to him. "Oh, it doesn't matter! See you in English, Mickey." Ian slammed his locker shut with a loud crash and Mickey flinched.

Ian began to walk away, but he turned back and looked at Quinn, feeling the need to get one last stab in. It was petty and childish, but he couldn't bring himself to be mature right now. "By the way, Quinn," he began. "Your roots are showing."

He smiled, taking pleasure in Quinn's appalled expression, then turned around and continued on down the hall.

Ian Gallagher-1, Quinn Fabray-0.

* * *

"Your girlfriend's a bitch."

"I am aware," Mickey said into his phone. "I'm sorry about everything she said to you."

"Not your fault," Ian told him.

Mickey sighed and closed his book, then stood up and walked towards his bed. He lay down and switched the phone to his other ear.

"Everything you said to her was pretty accurate," he said. Mickey couldn't help thinking about what Ian had said to Quinn. Quinn would go to any lengths to achieve the ultimate popularity status. She was pretty ruthless and a bit crazy.

"I know," Ian responded. "Glee club tomorrow should be interesting."

Mickey groaned. He really didn't want Quinn to join glee. It was the one place he could actually enjoy himself without having to worry about her being intent on watching his every move.

"I wish there was a way of convincing her not to join," he sighed.

"Well, I guess you could tell her you're having sex with me, because I think that would probably make her change her mind," Ian said and Mickey could hear the amusement in his voice. "But of course, that's not an option."

Mickey wished it was. Earlier that day he had wanted to tell her that, especially when she had talked down to Ian. When Ian had almost told her, Mickey chickened out, as he so often did in dire situations.

"Praying she can't sing," Mickey muttered.

"I didn't know you believed in God," Ian said.

"Being with Quinn, you have to believe in something," Mickey informed him. "Otherwise, you would probably go nuts."

"Good point."

"So, when can we see each other?" Mickey asked, boldly. He didn't care. All he could think about was kissing Ian, holding Ian, being with Ian. He needed to know.

"We saw each other in school about six hours ago," Ian said and Mickey could hear him smiling knowingly.

"You know what I mean," Mickey urged.

"I do," Ian chuckled. "Whenever you're free, I guess."

"As if I will ever be completely free," Mickey sighed again, realising it was true. He would never be truly free. He guessed he could be, but there were so many consequences and quid pro quos that he couldn't even consider it.

"Some day, Mickey," Ian said and Mickey could hear the smile in his voice. "Some day you will be, but I thought we were talking about sex. How did the topic change to something so intense and profound?"

Mickey spluttered a little bit.

"Are you insinuating that sex with me is not intense and profound?"

"Not in the least," Ian apprised him, instantly.

"Good," Mickey said. "Because I plan on having lots of it."

* * *

"Did Quinn Fabray and Noah Iggyerman really just sing Islands in the Stream?" Mercedes said, looking as dazed as Ian felt.

"Yes," Ian said, then turned to look at Mickey behind him. "You really need to reconsider the people you call your friends, Mickey."

"Stop talking, I'm trying to process what just happened."

Ian turned away because he knew how he felt. It had been the single, most awkward performance Ian had ever witnessed. Quinn and Iggy had walked in, grinning. Iggy had his guitar and people started to object to them being in the club, but Mr Schue said they deserved a chance and so, they had auditioned with Islands in the Stream and Quinn Fabray and Noah Iggyerman were no Dolly Parton and Kenny Rogers. They were both mildly talented, Iggy a little more than Quinn, but maybe Ian was biased, but it had been strange and really, really awkward to watch.

Nobody had clapped afterwards, not even Mr Schuester. He had said it was a good song, but beyond that he looked as dazed and confused as everyone else. The part that made it as crazy as it was, was that this was Quinn and Iggy, two of the most popular kids at school, besides Mickey. The entire thing had been so far out there, it needed foreign travel vaccines.

Iggy and Quinn had left early, because nobody had really treated them with any kindness, but they said they'd be back for the next session.

"I don't think we should let them join," Rachel stated and for once, Ian had to agree with her. "While they can sing a little, they're both far too used to being in the limelight to be willing to step back."

"Milkovich seems to be doing fine," Santana pointed out.

"Why would Iggy join glee?" Mickey whispered behind Ian. He appeared to be speaking mostly to himself so Ian ignored him.

"Rachel, everyone who auditions gets in, remember?" Mr Schue said. "Now next time, we're going to be more welcoming, even if that was a little weird."

"That's a major understatement," Mercedes laughed.

Ian agreed. "Understatement of the century."

"Um, okay," Mr Schue said, then. "I think we're done for today. See you all on Thursday."

Ian stood up and got his things and headed for the door. Everyone headed for the exit doors and then went in separate directions. Mickey followed Ian to his car.

"What are you—"

"You remember last night when I said I planned on us having lots and lots of sex?"

Ian took a step back, stunned. It was one thing for Mickey to say it over the phone, but in person was a whole other story.

"Um, vaguely," he lied.

"Well, that starts now, if it's all right with you," Mickey told him. "I never want to hear Islands in the Stream ever again for the rest of my existence," he muttered. "There's no one at my house, my parents went to visit my uncle this morning. You up for it?"

"You just want to sleep with me because you want me to take your mind off the fact that your girlfriend is a psychopath and your best friend is a douche?" Ian enquired.

Mickey blinked a couple of times, those long dark lashes fluttering lightly.

"No," he said, matter-of-factly. "I want to sleep with you because it's been twenty one days since we last did it and your pants are really tight and I'm a teenage boy with carnal urges and you look really good today. Like, so good."

Ian was a little taken aback by Mickey's sudden blunt manner, but he didn't deem it unwelcome. He smiled, then, mischievously.

"I don't think I feel like it," Ian told him. "My mind is permanently scarred from the performance I just witnessed."

"Oh, get in the car, Gallagher," Mickey said, smiling a little.

* * *

"Mickey!" Quinn said, following him across the school parking lot. Mickey couldn't look at her without flashbacks of that awful rendition of Islands in the Stream flooding his mind. "Mickey, we need to talk!"

Mickey slowed down and waited for her to catch up. When she did, she reached out and clutched his arm.

"I mean, we need to talk, like, privately."

"Look, Quinn, if this is about me not clapping after your glee audition, I had good reason. In my defense, that audition sucke—"

" _Mickey_ ," she said, gravely, looking up at him with worrying eyes. "I'm pregnant."

Mickey felt as if he was falling. His knees felt weak and he felt light-headed, as if he might hit the ground. It was as if every one of his worst nightmares were coming true simultaneously.

"You—you're sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure!" she snapped.

Mickey shook his head. "You couldn't—we were careful, we—"

"Mickey, stop babbling," Quinn sighed, with frustration. "I'm like 110% sure. We're having a baby."

Mickey stared at her, his skin felt cold and his heart was doing somersaults in his chest. He couldn't have a baby with Quinn. They didn't even like each other. This was the worst day of his life, it was official.

"Oh, you know what, Mickey?" Quinn said, angrily. "If you're just going to stand there looking like a lost dog, I'm just going to go to class and you can find me later."

"Okay," he said, simply.

Quinn grunted her displeasure and stormed off into the building. Mickey stood there in a daze for at least five minutes, then walked quickly into the school, body shaking violently. He was experiencing so many feelings now that he couldn't put a name to, but they were all bad, every one of them. There was only one thing he could thing to do that would help him get his head together.

He had to find Ian.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17:**

"I need to talk to you."

Ian heard the panic in his voice before he had even turned around to look at him. When he did turn around, he saw that not only did Mickey sound like he was in distress, he looked it, too. His eyes were filled with worry and concern and his breathing was laboured.

"What? What is it?" Ian asked.

"I just.." Mickey's eyes darted around the crowded halls. "Can we go some place else?"

"Mickey, class starts in—"

"Ian," Mickey said and he reached out and placed a hand on both of Ian's shoulders. He looked right into his eyes and spoke, voice breaking. "You said you would always be someone I could come to. I'm coming to you now. I know I don't deserve your kindness, or your friendship, or just _you_ in general, but I need you, Ian. _Please._ "

Ian studied him. He looked as if it was the end of the world, like part of him had broken.

"Okay," Ian nodded.

* * *

They were in Ian's room and Mickey was pacing back and forth. Ian sat down on the edge of the bed and watched him. He was whispering to himself, frantically, too quietly for Ian to be able to make out what he was saying. It didn't look as if he was blinking, either, his bright eyes wide and dilated. Ian sighed.

"Mickey," he said. "Mickey, sit down. I didn't skip school so that you could parade back and forth looking pretty in my room."

Mickey didn't respond, he simply kept on pacing, as if Ian hadn't even spoken. Ian groaned and stood up. He went to Mickey and grabbed him by the shoulders, then pushed him to sit on the bed. Mickey was looking up at him, a stunned expression on his face. Ian wondered if he should slap him, or throw water over him, but instead, he just sat down next to him.

"Okay, breathe and tell me what's wrong."

Ian waited, while Mickey took slow, deep breaths. He kept raising his hands to his head, like the end was near. Finally, he met Ian's eyes and opened his mouth to speak.

"Quinn's pregnant," he said, very quietly.

Ian's heart stilled in his chest and then it seemed to plummet down to somewhere around his ankles and then back up again. He stared at Mickey for a few seconds.

"She's.. Seriously?"

Mickey nodded, just nodded.

"Well, this can't go well," Ian muttered. He couldn't really explain what he was feeling. The only word that came to mind was shock, but that was a huge understatement, an even bigger understatement than Quinn and Iggy's performance of Islands in the Stream being weird. His mind was flooded with these thoughts that said he had to face reality, that this was over, that it couldn't and wouldn't go on, that Mickey had a responsibility and he couldn't expect him to go on with their relationship and how long did he think it was going to last anyway?

"I can't.. Ian, I can't have a baby," Mickey said, sounding dazed.

Ian felt like pointing out that he didn't really have much of a choice, but he thought that would be a little insensitive, so he didn't. Instead, he reached out and laid a hand on Mickey's shoulder, hoping it came across as a supportive gesture.

"Does she know what she wants to do?"

Mickey looked up and shrugged, looking helpless.

"I only spoke to her for about two minutes. She told me, then when I didn't react in the way she'd expected me to, she stormed off and then I went to find you."

Ian wondered if Quinn had expected Mickey to do a celebration dance on hearing the news. He really disliked that girl, even more so now.

"I mean, I've known for a long time that I would end up stuck with her forever, probably, but.." Mickey trailed off, shaking his head. "I guess I didn't ever really and truly believe it, you know?"

"This isn't the Stone Age, Mickey," Ian said, though he knew using the Stone Age as an example was inaccurate, but thinking was difficult right now. "Getting a girl pregnant doesn't necessarily mean you're tied to her forever."

"You obviously haven't met my dad," Mickey said.

"I don't think I'd want to meet him, anyway," Ian muttered. "You know, you should probably talk to her, find out the details. Things might not be as.."

 _Things might not be as bad as they seem,_ he'd been going to say, but stopped, because things were pretty bad.

"Okay, look," Ian began, with a sigh. "You need to consider everything here, okay? For one, you have to take responsibility for this kid. Secondly, you don't have to stay with her, you know? I mean, if you don't want to be with her, that's your own decision. You're eighteen soon, you're an adult, you make your own decisions. If your dad doesn't like it, that's his problem. He's not the one who has to spend the rest of his life tied to someone like Quinn. And above all of that, Mickey, we—me and you—we need to stop this entire thing."

Mickey looked up then, his eyes wide. He looked as if that hadn't crossed his mind yet. Ian watched as he stood up and crossed the room, breathing heavily.

"I can't," Mickey uttered.

"Well, you have to," Ian told him. "You can't go and commit to having a kid with your girlfriend and still meet me in fields for sex."

"No," Mickey said, adamantly. "I know. I know, I can't. But I can't.. Ian. I can't not be with you."

"Mickey—"

"How can you be so calm about it?" Mickey demanded. "How can you just tell me we can't do this any more with just a shrug, like it's nothing to you?"

Ian shut his eyes tight. He didn't know how else to say it, because he didn't like being the pity party, didn't want Mickey to know how badly it hurt. In reality, he felt as if his heart was ripping into millions of pieces.

"We'll still talk and all that, if you want," Ian shrugged, ignoring the question.

"You feel nothing?"

"Mickey," Ian sighed again. "How long did you think this could go on?"

Ian had asked himself the same question and couldn't come up with an answer. He didn't know, he just knew that he didn't want to stop. He didn't want to be away from Mickey.

"I don't know!" Mickey said, sounding a little hysterical. "I don't know anything! I let everything build up and it's all back fired."

"Mickey—"

"I know how wrong it is, Ian, I know, okay?" Mickey went on. "I know that it's selfish and wrong, but I can't lose you! I don't know how!"

"Mickey, calm dow—"

"I can't calm down!" Mickey said, loudly. "How can I calm down when you clearly don't care?"

Ian's frustration rose like mercury in a thermometer held next to a fire. He jumped to his feet and looked at Mickey, right at him, into those copper penny eyes.

" _I don't care?_ " he said, voice high pitched. "All I've been doing is caring! In fact, Mickey, I think I'm probably the only person in your lie of a life that gives a damn! Don't tell me I don't care, when I've been the only one fucking caring from day one!"

"Well, you don't act like you care!" Mickey retorted. "You're standing there telling me it's over, like the closing credits of a movie are rolling! _I know_ that it's over, okay? I can see the stupid credits! You don't have to state the God damned obvious! _I know!_ But unlike you, I clearly have a bigger problem with that happening, with this ending. So, what was it, Ian? Was this just all one big joke? You decided you'd just sleep with me and tell me you'd be here for me, just for the fun of it? Because that's how it looks. It _looks_ like you have absolutely no problem with this being over."

Ian laughed, cruelly. "Are you serious?" he shouted. " _You_ have a bigger problem with this being over? Really? You make it sound as if I'm not emotionally attached to this-this-whatever this is! Like I'm the one who's afraid to admit that I like another guy! Like I'm kissing you and giving you bracelets and texting you and then going back to my girlfriend and slushying you in the school hallways! Maybe you should sit down and rethink that, Mickey, because I'm pretty sure that was all you!"

"If you're so 'emotionally attached'," Mickey said, forming air quotes with his fingers. "Then why are you so laid back about this? Why are you acting as if I'm just another name you can cross off a list of people you've slept with?"

"I haven't slept with anyone but you and you know that," Ian pointed out. "You on the other hand—"

"Don't even tell me there hasn't been anyone else," Mickey shook his head. "I'm not saying you lied about being a virgin, but as if you went to an all-boys school and none of them wanted to touch you. Who in their right mind wouldn't want to? Don't make out like I've been with more than one person and you haven't."

Ian took a deep breath and then groaned with frustration. Mickey was going to send him to an early grave.

"Do you want to know about the one other guy that you speak of, Mickey?" Ian asked. "Do you want to know what it's like to be with someone who just wants you for sex? Oh, wait, apparently you already know what that's like, since I've been using you for all this sex. Like I'm the one who got drunk and stuck my hand down your pants."

Ian hadn't told Mickey about Evan, the last guy he'd been with—the only other guy he'd ever been with. He didn't class him as a boyfriend, because they never actually dated. It mostly consisted of them ending up in one another's room and then Evan trying to get Ian's jeans off. It hadn't ended well and Ian hadn't ever told anyone about it.

"Well," Mickey said, looking a little defeated. "That doesn't explain why you claim to be so attached to this—us—yet you stand there looking like ending it will have no impact on your life at all."

"No impact on _my_ life?" Ian asked. "Mickey, do you know what it's like to have someone act like they like you, like they want you and they do all these things with you, to you, for you, yet you never know how they feel, because they never tell you? Do you know what that's like for me? Do you know how frustrating and confusing that is? To want someone so bad, someone you can never truly have, but you keep on letting things happen, because it means you still get to be close to them? Now you know what it's like for me, but me? I have no idea how you feel? Want to know why? Because you never fucking tell me without it coming out of your mouth as some sort of cryptic, mysterious riddle that I can't understand!"

Mickey crossed the room quickly and Ian thought he was going to leave. He wouldn't follow him, he would let him walk right on out of his room, out of his life. But Mickey didn't leave, he stopped right in front of Ian and looked right at him.

"You want to know how I feel?" Mickey said. "I'll tell you exactly how I feel! I'll tell you exactly why I can't understand you being so perfectly fine with this being over! I'll tell you why it hurts that you seem to feel nothing! I'll tell you why I know this has to end, but I can't let go so easily! It's because I love you, okay?" Mickey shouted. " _I love you_ and it terrifies me both that I love you and that you might not love me back. Are you happy now? Did I help you understand how I feel, Ian?"

Ian stared at him, mouth hanging open. His heart was racing in his chest and his skin was shivering all over. This simply could not be happening. Mickey couldn't love him now, when it all had to come to an end. It wasn't possible, it wasn't fair.

"No," Ian shook his head. "No, no. You don't. You don't love me."

"Yes, I do!" Mickey told him. "I do. I love you and I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry that it's like this, but I love you and there's nothing I can do about that." Mickey's face fell and he looked like he might cry, but he didn't. He simply moved forward and pressed his mouth down over Ian's. "I'm sorry," he whispered against his lips. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

* * *

Mickey's fingers were fumbling with the small buttons on Ian's shirt. His heart was hammering away against his ribcage and he was breathing heavily into Ian's mouth. He could feel Ian's heart beating hard and fast beneath his touch as his fingers continued to push the small, white buttons out through the little loop holes.

Finally, he had it completely unbuttoned. He pushed it down past Ian's arms and flung it off to the side. It landed in a pile on the floor. Mickey bent to kiss Ian again, his hands finding Ian's chest, his fingers following the contours of his skin. He knew he shouldn't do this, not with everything that was going on, but he couldn't bring himself to care right now. All he wanted was Ian, even if it would be their last time ever, which he was not happy about, he just wanted to be with him, wanted to be close to him, wanted to feel his heart beating against his chest, just once more.

Ian's hands were pushing Mickey's jacket off. He moved back a little, to allow him room to push it away and within seconds, it was on the floor next to Ian's shirt. Before Mickey could breathe, Ian was tugging him back on top of him, crashing his mouth against his hungrily. Every other time they'd had sex, it hadn't been like this. It had been calm, careful, their movements very contrived, but now, it was hungry, frantic, they were clinging to one another like tomorrow was their final day.

"Will you stop saying you're sorry?" Ian muttered against his lips and Mickey hadn't realised he was still apologising out loud. He didn't get a chance to reply, because Ian's hands were pushing his shirt up his chest and then he was tugging it up over his arms and over his head and then they were both topless.

Mickey made a small sound when he felt Ian tugging him back down, their bare skin touching. He wanted him more than he could bring himself to admit, even now after having confessed to loving him. He did love him, he couldn't deny that to himself any more.

Mickey's hands flitted lower until they found the top button on Ian's tight pants. He went to work on that, while Ian's lips found his neck, his kisses soft, but still sloppy and fast. Ian's mouth found Mickey's pulse and he placed small kisses there for a long time, before sucking his skin into his mouth. Mickey groaned and began pushing Ian's pants south. Finally, he kicked them off of Ian's body, leaving him in just his briefs, his porcelain skin almost translucent beneath Mickey.

He could only look at him for a second, because Ian's mouth found his again and he gasped against his lips when Ian's hands had moved lower and found the crotch of his jeans. He moaned when Ian's fingers squeezed his erection through his jeans, before unzipping him. Mickey hummed in relief when Ian had the zipper all the way down. His cock was still straining against his underwear, but at least the hard material of his jeans was gone.

Mickey wasted no time, he hooked his fingers into the top of Ian's underwear and tugged them down, freeing his hard-on. This time, he sat back a little, to look at him in the light of the day. He had never really properly just looked at Ian. He was the most flawless thing he had ever seen in his life. Ian blushed while Mickey watched him, the skin around his neck and in his cheeks flushing a bright pink.

"You're beautiful," Mickey whispered. He figured he had nothing left to lose now, he could just say these things, he didn't care now, Ian already knew. He didn't wait for Ian to reply, he simply bent down again and covered Ian's swelled mouth with his own, their tongues falling together and finding a steady rhythm.

Mickey pushed his hand downwards and wrapped his fingers around Ian's cock, sending a low moan from his mouth. They were still kissing like it was the end of the world and then Ian was pushing Mickey's boxers off and within seconds, they were both completely naked and pressed against one another.

Mickey's hand let Ian's cock go and Ian moaned at the loss. He moved his hand lower again, his fingers finding Ian's opening.

" _Oh,_ " Ian breathed, when Mickey rubbed a finger over his tight hole. Mickey loved the noises Ian made when he had his fingers inside him, he could have listened to him all day, just knowing he was doing that to him. He lifted his fingers to Ian's mouth and Ian sucked on them.

"Fuck," Mickey uttered. He had never seen anything like this. Ian was literally the hottest thing he had ever seen.

He pulled his fingers out and Ian let go with a small popping sound, then Mickey lowered his hand to find Ian's entrance again. He lowered his mouth to kiss Ian as he pressed a finger to his asshole and worked it in slowly. Ian pulled his mouth off of Mickey's in an instant and cried out, his head flinging backwards.

Mickey extended his finger slowly, then pushed it back in and Ian made the same sound again. After a few more pushed, Ian was moving, pushing himself down over Mickey's fingers and Mickey could have come, simply from watching him. But he didn't want to come yet, he wanted more, wanted to take his time, because this was probably going to be their last time.

Mickey pulled his finger out and Ian tried to push himself down over it again, but Mickey's hand was gone. Ian whined, but Mickey caught the sound with his mouth and instead, used his hand to pump back and forth along the base of Ian's dick. Ian's hand came down to Mickey's erection and his fingers danced gently along the underside, until they found his balls. Ian's touch against his sensitive skin made him cry out against his mouth and God, he was perfect.

"Side table drawer," Ian said, voice thick and uneven.

"What?" Mickey breathed, his hand moving faster along Ian's cock, sending small moans from his mouth. Ian's hand had moved up to close around Mickey's cock and Mickey wasn't going to last long at this rate.

"Side table drawer, Mickey," Ian emphasised.

"Oh," Mickey said, realising. "Not yet."

He let go of Ian and began moving lower until his head was in line with Ian's hard-on, which was already shining with pre-come at the head. Mickey cursed at the sight, before flicking his tongue over it. Ian was making small guttural sounds and Mickey moved so that his head was angled in a way that he could just slide his mouth down over Ian's cock.

"God, Mickey," Ian said, when Mickey began to suck up and down, his lips stretched around him. Mickey remembered the first night he had done this, how afterwards, he had wanted more than anything for it to go away, for Ian to just disappear out of his life. Now, all he wanted was to have Ian forever and he could never have that.

Ian's hand were in his hair, tugging lightly on the curls which had escaped the gel. He continued to suck on Ian, until Ian's fingers tugged hard on his hair and he kept on pulling until Mickey had moved his mouth off entirely.

"What?" Mickey asked, breathlessly. "What's wrong?"

"Not gonna l-last if you keep d-doing th-that," Ian told him.

He knew how he felt. Mickey glanced down at his own cock against his stomach. His insides were knotting and he just wanted more, wanted all of Ian. He kissed him again and their pace hadn't slowed at all. There was a want, a yearning as they crashed their tongues together. Mickey tore his mouth off Ian's then and looked right into those sea-blue, shining eyes.

"I want you inside me," he said and Ian seemed to choke.

"You-you—oh. Okay," Ian said, sounding flustered.

Mickey had never been so blunt about what he wanted when it came to intimacy with Ian, with anyone actually. Now, he just wanted to feel close to him, to have him in every possible way, because he couldn't have him in the way he wanted, the way that mattered most. He couldn't have him to call his own.

"Side table drawer," Ian told him again.

"Okay," Mickey said and leaned across to the drawer. He pulled it open and reached inside for the small bottle of lube. He handed it to Ian.

"The condoms are—"

"Can we not?" Mickey asked, blushing. "I just—I just want to—to _feel_ you."

Ian stared up at him for a couple of heartbeats and Mickey couldn't read anything from his expression. Then he nodded.

"I—Okay."

"You don't have to if you're uncomfortable with tha—"

"No," Ian shook his head, his fingers tracing patterns over Mickey's thigh, sending small shivers all along his skin. "No, I want to."

Mickey nodded and Ian sat up. He pushed Mickey back against the pillows and kissed him again, as he opened the cap on the bottle of lube with a snapping sound. Mickey heart was beating hard as he felt Ian shifting his leg into a position that allowed his easy access to his opening. He hadn't bottomed since their first time, but for some reason he was more nervous now about it than he had been then.

Ian pressed a single kiss to Mickey's lips, then sat back on his knees and pressed on the bottle of lube until the cool liquid was in the palm of his hand. Mickey swallowed hard.

"Are you all right?" Ian asked, looking down at him with a concerned look in his eyes.

"Yes," Mickey said. "Yes, just—I'm fine. Do it."

Ian nodded and then spread some of the lube over his first finger. Mickey had to look away, because he was going to come. He gasped at the first touch of Ian's cool finger against his opening. It flicked over it once, then twice, then began pressing against his tight hole. He continued to press against it, until the tip of his finger slid in easily. Mickey arched his hips and Ian pushed them back down with the hand that didn't have its finger inside him.

Ian pushed his finger all the way in, slowly, then moved it back out and Mickey was breathing faster now. He watched as Ian spread lube over a second finger and then went to work at stretching him open enough to fit in both. Soon, he was covering his a third finger with the sticky liquid and then he was moving to fit three inside him.

Mickey's ankles were thrashing a little and Ian pressed a hand back to hold one still.

"Relax," he whispered, as he pushed in and out of him with his fingers, now moving freely. Mickey groaned every time Ian's fingers hit that spot and God, he was so, so close. He watched as Ian began to pump back and forth on his own cock, with the hand that had the pool of lube in its palm. Mickey moaned when he saw Ian's cock, now shining with the lube.

"Still okay?" Ian asked, as he pushed himself back on his knees.

"More than okay," Mickey told him, truthfully.

Ian moved his legs up and Mickey took a deep breath as Ian lined himself up with his opening. He pressed the head of his cock against Mickey's hole then began to push slowly in and Mickey's eyes fluttered closed, his head pushing back hard against the pillows.

"God," Ian breathed, pausing with just the head of his cock buried inside Mickey. "How can you still be this tight?"

Mickey couldn't reply, couldn't form coherent words. He watched as Ian took another few long inhales, his pale chest rising and falling quickly, then he pushed slowly forward again, past the second ring of muscle inside Mickey. This time, he didn't pause to give him time to adjust, he simply kept on inching further in, until he was buried all the way inside.

"Jesus," Mickey managed to choke out, his hard cock still pressing against his stomach.

Ian moved down to catch Mickey's mouth with his own, which meant his body shifted a little, which in turn, caused his cock to slide backwards a little inside Mickey. Mickey moaned into Ian's kiss and then Ian's hand was reaching down to entwine his fingers around his cock. Mickey's stomach tightened at his touch. He was going to come very soon.

Ian continued to kiss him and pump away at his erection and then he was retracting his hips and then immersing himself back inside and Mickey was crying out against his lips. He wrapped his legs around his waist and Ian was still kissing him, lazily and his hips were moving back and forth at a more rapid pace now, his cock hitting Mickey's spot every time he plunged himself forward. Soon, Mickey was moving his hips in a rhythm with Ian's so that he was meeting Ian every time he moved back in.

Ian's hand was still moving back and forth on Mickey's cock between them and Mickey had never felt as close to anyone in his entire life. He could feel Ian's heart thumping against his chest and Ian's chest was rising and falling as quickly as his own. He felt hot and cold and dizzy and happy and he just never wanted to let this boy go.

Mickey moaned high and long when he came, his come hitting Ian's chest and his own, leaving pearly streaks on their skin. He closed his eyes as Ian's hand continued to pump on his dick until he had come completely, pleasure still racking his body from the feeling of Ian's cock moving in and out inside of him. Ian moved back again to make it easier to move. He clutched Mickey's hips and began to push in and out harder and faster and Mickey knew he was going to come, he knew he was close, because his thrusts were more erratic and his head was thrown back, eyes closed, mouth open.

Small sounds escaped his throat and Mickey couldn't take his eyes off him. He was perfect, so, so perfect and Mickey just had to tell him that, he would make sure to tell him later, because he needed to know. He needed to know that he was perfect and that there was no one else like him and that there never, ever would be, at least not for Mickey.

Soon, Ian was coming inside Mickey and they were both crying out. Mickey reached up and tugged Ian back town to kiss him and Ian continued to move in and out, riding out the orgasm, before collapsing on top of Mickey and kissing him senseless.

"I can't—I can't lose you," Mickey whispered into his mouth.

"We don't have a choice, Mickey," Ian told him and Mickey could see the sadness in his cyan eyes. "We just don't have a choice."

* * *

Ian had never seen Mickey like this in all the times they had been together. Never had he ever lay with his head rested on Ian's chest, one arm curled around his waist, the other tracing invisible designs over his arm with his fingers. Not that Ian was complaining. They wouldn't be able to do anything like this ever again, it was sort of a final day for them, they would enjoy it.

Ian was stroking Mickey's hair back absently, as they just stared at one another in complete silence. He could feel Mickey's warm breath on his chest, near his heart and Ian couldn't tell if he wanted to cry or scream. Maybe both.

They were both sweaty and Ian had wiped them off with a shirt, but they were still sticky and disgusting. He could feel his skin cooling off from the cool air that was sifting through the small slit of his open window.

Mickey's eyes were sad and tired looking. Neither of them had spoken in at least fifteen minutes. Ian decided he should break the silence, because they would have to at some point.

"Are you scared?" he asked.

"Terrified," Mickey told him.

"What of?"

"What of?" Mickey asked. "Um, everything."

Ian shook his head, his fingers still smoothening over Mickey's dark hair. "I mean—well. You can still talk to me, you know? I told you once that I'll always be someone you can come to, no matter the situation. I meant it. So, talk to me. What are you thinking?"

Mickey sighed and closed his eyes for a few seconds, then opened them again.

"I figure that being stuck with Quinn for possibly the rest of my life is something I'll have to accept, you know? I know you said having a—a baby doesn't mean we have to, like, get married, or whatever, but it sort of does. I mean, not right now, but eventually. Because Quinn's parents are just like my parents. Everything has to be a certain way, or it's wrong, there's no question about it. So, I'll accept that, you know? I mean, I won't be happy about it, but that's just how it has to go, but the thing that gets me most—aside from, you know, not being able to kiss you whenever the fuck I want to—what gets me most is the idea of a baby."

"Don't think you're cut out to be a daddy?" Ian asked, smiling sadly. God, he just really hated Quinn. He sort of felt sorry for her, because babies weren't an easy fete, but he mostly just hated her for how she had managed to trap Mickey for good.

"Not now, anyway," Mickey said. "I hadn't ever really given it much thought. But.."

Mickey trailed off and began chewing on his bottom lip. His eyes dropped and he was taking long inhales.

"What?" Ian asked, softly, using his fingers to tilt Mickey's head back to face him.

Mickey was silent for a moment, then he exhaled and looked into Ian's eyes.

"I'm scared I'm going to turn out like my dad."

"Mickey, you're nothing like your—"

"You've never even met him," Mickey pointed out.

"Yeah, but I've seen what he's capable of, remember?" Ian reminded him. "And I know you, Mickey. You're not like that. Beneath this shield you've put up around you, you're a good person—a really good person. You don't deserve anything that's happening to you, Mickey."

"I never deserved you," Mickey said, looking up at him. "That's why I don't get to have you."

"That and the fact that you're not gay, right?" Ian smirked.

Mickey sighed, tiredly. "I don't know."

Ian didn't say anything, because there wasn't really any point now.

"Do you remember that day in the bathroom? When you told me I would wind up with Quinn and that I'd end up cheating on her with some guy I met at my kid's football game?"

"Oh, wow," Ian said. He had forgotten about that. "That's pretty uncanny."

"Yeah," Mickey said. "Why are you always so right?"

"I wish I wasn't," Ian told him. "At least about this."

"If you are," Mickey said. "I hope you're at my kid's football game, Ian. In fact, you should come to all of them just to heighten the chances."

Ian chuckled and Mickey smiled slightly. They didn't say anything for a little while, then, just listened to the sound of the other breathing.

"You know earlier when I said all that stuff? When I said you were just in this for the—the sex and when I called you out on the whole previous relationships thing," Mickey said. "I didn't mean any of that. I know you weren't just in this for that reason. This—us—it was never just about sex. Not for me, either. It was always more, even if I was never able to admit that. And the whole past boyfriends thing, I—that was just me being stupid and angry and jealous, I guess."

"Jealous?" Ian asked with intrigue. "You're jealous of my one past relationship? In fact, I don't even class that as a relationship. You have no reason to be jealous."

"What'd he do?" Mickey asked and Ian thought he sounded sort of defensive about it.

"Nothing, really," Ian shrugged. "He spent large amounts of his time trying to take my pants off, but never really succeeded. Well. Maybe he got them off once, but we never—I wasn't lying when I said I was a virgin."

"I know," Mickey nodded against Ian's chest. "Did that end badly? You know, the thing with the other guy?"

"I guess," Ian said, thoughtfully. "Most things in my life seem to end badly."

Mickey frowned and pressed the lightest of kisses to Ian's chest.

"I'm sorry, Ian."

"You said that about six million times already," Ian smiled. "But it's okay. I guess you can't be solely blamed for this. I could have said no at any time, I just didn't really want to."

Ian wanted to ask him if he had meant it when he said he loved him, but he couldn't bring himself to do it, because if Mickey said yes, that he meant it, it would only make the entire thing more painful. Mickey had been a mess when he had said he loved him. It had probably been a mistake, a slip up, something said on a whim. He had to believe that, because believing that made thing easier.

"Will you still come to my party?"

"You're still having it?"

"I can't tell my parents, yet," Mickey informed him. "So, yes, they'll expect me to have a party. They've already made plans to disappear for the weekend."

"Then, yeah, I'll go," Ian nodded. "Still going to ask the glee club?"

"Of course."

"Cool," Ian said, because he didn't really know what else to say. "Should I get you anything in particular?"

"You're the only person in my life who's even remotely interested in my life, do you know that?"

"That doesn't help me with gift ideas, Milkovich," Ian smiled a little.

"You've already given me far more than I deserve," Mickey told him. "I don't need anything else."

Ian rolled his eyes. "I'll come up with something, I guess."

"You don't have to."

"I want to."

"Okay."

Ian looked at him lying there, looking like he was on death row awaiting execution. It was awful to watch. Sure, Mickey could have prevented this from happening if he had just been truthful about who he was from the beginning, but he'd been afraid and that was acceptable, Ian guessed. He was human and everyone got scared sometimes.

"Come here," Ian said and he moved to kiss Mickey's lips. They made out for a long time and then Ian pulled back. "We have to go to school, you know."

"What? Why?"

"Because if you're going to keep up the pretence, then it's not going to look good if we're both missing, is it?"

"Oh."

"Yeah," Ian said. "Or I could just go, if you're not up to it."

"No," Mickey sighed. "I'll be okay. I should probably talk to her anyway."

"Yeah, seeing as how you found out no details, you probably should," Ian said. "Good luck with that."

"Don't wish me luck, though I do need all the luck I can get," Mickey apprised him. "Kiss me one more time, because I guess this is it for us."

Ian's smile fell and he nodded. "Guess so."

Mickey pressed his mouth down over Ian's and he kissed him slowly, gently and for a long time.

"I'm going to miss kissing you," Mickey whispered once they'd stopped.

"Me, too," Ian told him. "I'm still your friend, though. You know that?"

Mickey nodded. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah, me, too."

"We should get dressed."

"We should."

"You should get off of me, then," Ian smiled.

"I know," Mickey told him. He frowned then. "I wish things were different."

"Me, too."

"This is it, then."

"Yep," Ian sighed. "Maybe it's for the best."

Maybe it was, but if it was, why did he feel so heart broken?

"Maybe," Mickey said. "But I doubt it, because it doesn't feel that way."

"I know."

* * *

"You can't tell anyone," Quinn informed him.

"I didn't plan on telling anyone," Mickey said. Ian didn't count, he had conceded, because Ian was Ian and he could talk to Ian without having to worry about the entire world finding out.

"Just so you know," Quinn began. "I'm going to keep this a secret for as long as I can. I'm eight weeks now and I'm hoping it doesn't show for a long time."

This all felt very surreal and Mickey felt dizzy. _A baby._ It all felt like some kind of crazy dream and he wished he could just wake up.

"Okay," he said, in a bit of a daze.

"So," Quinn said. "Your party. Who's going?"

Mickey shrugged. How could she worry about something like a part at a time like this?

"Um, everyone I'm assuming," he told her. "I'm inviting the glee club."

Quinn gave him this look, a look that seemed to question his very existence.

"What?"

"You're inviting those losers?" she asked. " _Why?_ "

"Well, because I'm in glee club with them," Mickey provided. "I mean, why did you even join if you're just going to be rude to them? And I have a better question, why the hell did Iggyerman join?"

Quinn rolled her eyes and groaned. "Who cares?" she said. "You don't have to invite them, you know? I mean, it's not like you're obliged to invite them."

"I want to invite them," Mickey said. "And I'm going to, later on at glee club."

Quinn's face was a mask of disapproval. "Fine, Mickey, you do that."

If they were going to be together forever (he cringed every time he thought of it), he figured it was time he stopped being the push over in this relationship.

"I will."

* * *

"Wait, is this a trick?" Rachel demanded. "Because if you plan on setting us on fire, or something equally as _illegal_ , I think you should rethink that, Mickey Milkovich, I'll have you know that my—"

"It's not a trick," Mickey said. "I just thought you guys could, you know, come. If you wanted to. You don't even have to get me anything."

"You think we're not going to go because we don't want to buy you a gift?" Santana asked. "No way, Milkovich. If we're not going it is not because we can't afford you a stupid present. It'll be because a) we don't like you and b) we don't like you."

"Santana," Ian said, with a warning tone.

"Are you sure this isn't some kind of trick, Mickey?" Tina asked from her seat at the back.

"I wish it was," Quinn rolled her eyes. Everyone looked at her. "What? I'm just saying you guys don't really belong at Mickey's party, do you?"

Mickey sighed. Why was she even in glee club, anyway?

"Quinn, are you trying to say you don't want us there?" Ian asked, sweetly.

Mickey couldn't ignore that sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach every time he looked at or thought of Ian. He wanted so desperately for things to be different, but they never could be and that made him feel sick.

"Oh, whatever gave you that idea?" Quinn asked, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Ian looked at Mickey, right at him, those cerulean blues bright and shining.

"In that case," he said, firmly. "We'll be there."

Mickey smiled.


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18:**

"Is that.. Is that what you're wearing?" Ian asked, wide eyes taking in Rachel's outfit. She was wearing a hot pink, short-sleeved, button-up blouse and a knee-length, champagne pink, pleated skirt, complete with baby pink, knee socks and a pair of slip-on, pink, ballet pumps. A pink, bedazzled headband sat on top of her head and Ian shuddered at the sight.

"This," Rachel said, nose high in the air. "Is what I call 'Sexy Schoolgirl Librarian Chic'. It's a Rachel Berry original."

"Rachel," Ian exhaled. "There is a librarian at the local library and she's at least 55 and she dresses better than you. That is definitely not the look of a librarian."

Rachel narrowed her eyes at him. "Well, I happen to like how I look."

Ian shook his head and gave himself a once-over in his dresser mirror. He smoothed the side of his hair down, then turned to look at Rachel. She was flipping through his CD collection.

"You ready?" he asked.

"I'm very impressed with your musical tastes."

"That wasn't the question," Ian deadpanned.

"What?" Rachel asked, looking up. "Oh. Right. Did you get him anything?"

Ian paused for a second. "No."

Rachel laid the CDs down. "I got him a card with a bear on it that says 'Happy BEAR Day' and a voucher for Build-a-Bear."

Ian choked. "You got Mickey Milkovich a voucher for Build-a-Bear? Are you high?"

Rachel sighed, sounding exasperated. Ian couldn't believe she was serious, but she seemed to be. She rolled her dark eyes and placed a hand on either of her hips.

"Ian, everyone loves Build-a-Bear! It's a well-known fact!"

"Okay, if you say so," Ian smirked, because he could not wait to see the look on Mickey's face when Rachel handed him that. "Let's get going."

* * *

"Oh, wow," Mickey said, staring down at the rectangular, red voucher, with the orange bear on it, holding big, yellow, block letters that spelled out 'BEAR BUCK$ $30'. "Um, thanks. No one else has gotten me one of these, believe it or not."

Rachel grinned, happily and nodded. She flicked her dark hair over her pink-clad shoulder and said, "You're very welcome. I know we're not really friends, Mickey Milkovich, but it is your birthday and I hope you're having a good day."

Mickey smiled, then, because this girl, who he had slushied probably every day since freshman year, was being unnecessarily nice to him. He felt his insides warming. "Thanks," he shrugged. "Um, I hope you have a good time."

Rachel nodded, then turned around and walked towards Finn Hudson, who had just entered with Sam Evans and Artie Abrams.

"So, what's the expiry date on that thing?"

Mickey turned around and saw Ian standing there, smiling at him. He was dressed in a dark jacket, with an azure shirt underneath. He was wearing his usual tight pants, but today they were white and showed off his finer assets. Mickey looked back up to Ian's face and smiled.

"I have no idea, but I'll make sure I don't miss it," Mickey told him, placing the card and the voucher inside his mother's glass unit.

"Well, I don't think my gift can beat that, to be honest."

"I told you not to get me anything," Mickey said. A gift from Ian would just be a painful reminder of what he could never have again. The past week had been bad enough. They'd been sort of shy around each other, which was ridiculous, really, but things had changed, Mickey guessed.

"Oh, shut up," Ian smiled and reached into his inside pocket. He glanced around to make sure no one was paying special attention, then produced a small box, wrapped in shining gold paper. "Here," he said, handing it to Mickey. "Open it later, though. When everyone isn't watching."

Mickey looked up at him, eyes questioning. What could it be that he couldn't open it in public?

"It's probably not what you're thinking, Mickey," Ian chuckled. "Because I know how you think."

"I wasn't—"

"Yes, you were," Ian smirked, eyes lighting up. "But it's just.. People will start assuming things that aren't true—well, that aren't true _any more_ , but.. Yeah. Just open it later, or something."

Mickey nodded and slid the box inside his pocket. "Thanks," he smiled. "So, do you think anyone else from glee will get me a Build-a-Bear voucher?"

"You can only hope," Ian grinned.

* * *

"I'm leaving early," Quinn informed Mickey. She was shooting dirty looks across the room at the glee club, who were smiling and laughing in one corner of Mickey's living room.

"Okay," Mickey simply shrugged. He slipped his hand inside his pocket and felt for the box Ian had given him. "I'll be right back. Bathroom," he provided, then pushed his way through the crowds. He greeted a few people as he went, then climbed the stairs.

Mickey unlocked his bedroom door, then went inside and locked it behind him. He switched on a light and went to sit on the bed, then took the box from his pocket and tore the paper off, carefully. For some reason, he felt nervous. He shook his head in an endeavour to get rid of his nerves and tore off the final strip of wrapping paper. Mickey lifted the lid and looked inside.

He felt himself smiling when he saw what was inside. A small, silver plate was staring up at him and he reached in and pulled it out from the purple tissue paper it sat in. It was a bracelet, one that matched the one he had given Ian on his birthday. For a second, he thought it might be the same one, that Ian was returning it because of how things had gone between them, but when he flipped it over, he saw that the words on the plate were different ones.

 _I keep thinking in a moment time will take them away,_

 _But these feelings won't go away._

Mickey sighed tiredly as he stared down at the words, his insides twirling. When had his life gotten so complicated? And why had he allowed it to get this far? He wondered if it would ever get better, easier, but he simply could not envision that happening. Those words reminded him of exactly how he had felt when he had sang that song in glee. He was confused, lost, afraid of everything.

Now, it was different. He was still confused, still lost and definitely still afraid, but for different reasons. What he felt for Ian was something he couldn't really explain, but it didn't look as if it would go away any time soon and apparently, Ian felt the same. He felt like crap lately, like he wanted to cry and sleep all the time. He didn't cry and rarely slept. He spent most of his time watching old Pokémon episodes. Mickey Milkovich lived a fun-filled life, that was for sure.

He unclasped the bracelet and fastened it around his wrist, his left one, because Ian kept his on his left hand. He looked down at it for a long time and fought to push away thetears stinging at his eyes. He wouldn't cry, not now, not ever. He would get through this, he would come out on top at the end of it all.

At least, that was what he told himself. In reality, he didn't see any possible way that he would ever be truly happy again. He wished he could spend the rest of his life not remembering what he had had with Ian, wished he could take some kind of permanent pill that would wipe away his memory. On the other hand, he had been happy with Ian, at least for the most part. Frequently, his mind had been filled with worries and fears, but when it came down to happiness, Ian gave him that.

Mickey stood up and pushed down his sleeve, then opened the door and put on a smile, before going downstairs to the kitchen. Maybe he couldn't erase his memory permanently with some kind of pill or machine, but for now, there was alcohol and alcohol always made things go away, if just for a little while.

* * *

"Oh my God, Mickey, that was so freakin' cool!" Noah Iggyerman was shouting excitedly across the room.

Ian hadn't seen what exactly was 'so freakin' cool', because he had been trying to avoid looking at Mickey the entire party. They had caught little glances of one another by mistake and smiled timidly and Ian had conceded that it was very, very awkward. He wondered how long it would be before making eye contact in the school hallways would become awkward.

A bunch of the jocks were laughing and high-fiving one another. They looked like idiots. Ian rolled his eyes and looked down at his luminous yellow bottle of Mountain Dew. He hated Mountain Dew, he had no idea why he was drinking it. He looked up again when he heard another loud whoop of laughter.

He saw Quinn standing there next to Mickey, smiling. Mickey was downing a can of beer far too quickly. Ian wondered what might happen if he choked. Would it be frowned upon if he ran over and performed first aid? Mouth to mouth? It would be, after all, a life or death situation. Still, he couldn't help thinking that people would make assumptions even at this. Hopefully Mickey wouldn't choke anyway.

Quinn was whispering in Mickey's ear now and he wasn't smiling, but he wasn't frowning either. He looked neutral, like he had given up on caring. Ian would have been happy for him if giving up on caring didn't entail giving up on caring for Ian, too. Ian stood up and went outside when Quinn's arms wrapped around Mickey's waist. He looked uncomfortable, but didn't make any move to detach himself from her. Ian guessed this would be the norm now. They were, after all, expecting a baby.

It was at times like this that Ian wished he was a chronic alcoholic.

* * *

"Well, that could stop traffic," a voice said behind Ian. "Careful, you might cause an accident."

Ian turned around and saw a guy standing there, a guy he didn't recognise. Ian had stepped out onto Mickey's front porch for some air, after having gotten borderline depressed at the sight of Mickey with his girlfriend. He had no right, he knew that, but that didn't mean he wouldn't still hurt.

"Excuse me?"

"You know," the guy said, gesturing at the cars driving by. "A car accident."

He was a tall, muscled, athletic kind of guy. He looked sort of like a surfer from one of those ridiculous daytime sitcoms, with his golden boy looks, except he was dressed in a faded, black, leather jacket and faded blue denim jeans. His hair was a sunkissed blonde and fell across his eyes in wispy tufts. He had a light tan and dark, mysterious eyes. He was, by all accounts, a very attractive guy.

"I'm sorry, I have no idea what you're talking about," Ian told him, truthfully.

"Your ass."

Ian spluttered, then and gave the boy an incredulous look. "My... Wow. Okay. Who are you?" Ian asked, turning all the way around so that his rear end was not in this guy's immediate line of sight.

"What, you don't know you have a good ass?" he asked, with a mischievous grin. "Are the guys round here just really oblivious, or really dumb?"

"Neither," Ian said.

"Kenneth Iggyerman," the boy provided. "Call me Kenny."

"Iggyerman?" Ian asked, one eyebrow raised. "As in Noah Iggyerman?"

The guy—Kenneth—shrugged. "He's my cousin," he said. "Apparently, I was 'spiralling out of control', so I got sent to live here."

Ian nodded, knowingly. "Iggy's cousin. That would explain the bad pick up lines."

Kenneth laughed, then and Ian was about to excuse himself and head back inside to find Mercedes or Rachel and ask them if they wanted to leave, but Kenneth started talking again.

"Ian Gallagher, right? Rumour has it you're the only other gay kid in town," he said. Ian tilted his head, because that wasn't exactly the whole truth. "Wanna go find an empty room?"

"Um," Ian said, staring at the guy with a stunned look on his face. "No, actually, I don't. I'm just going to go insi—"

"So, Mickey Milkovich."

Ian stopped still. "What?"

Kenneth nodded, still grinning. "Well, I figure you must be friends, or something," he said. "I mean, otherwise you wouldn't be here, would you?"

Ian said nothing, just watched Kenneth through narrowed eyes.

"So, what is it? Football team?"

Ian scoffed. "No," he said. "Mickey and I.. It's a complicated—friendship." He wasn't lying. It was definitely complicated and now it was just a friendship, which, combined, made it a complicated friendship.

"I've never liked Mickey Milkovich," Kenneth told Ian, who simply folded his arms over his chest. "'Guy thinks he's better than everyone."

"Mickey's okay," Ian said, despite the fact that he wanted to say more. Kenneth was Iggy's cousin and anything Ian said might very well get back to Iggy.

" _Please,_ " Kenneth laughed. "He's drinking himself half to death in there."

"Mickey's got a lot going on," Ian said, sounding defensive, even to himself.

"What, you got the hots for the guy?" Kenneth smirked, raising his tawny eyebrows.

Ian wavered for a second. "Wh-what? No," he said, quickly. "Not at all."

"I mean, I guess I couldn't blame you if you did," Kenneth went on as if Ian hadn't even spoken. "He's sort of hot, you know, if you're into the short, dark and handsome type of thing. Which I'm totally not. No one wants Prince Charming any more, they want the sexy villain. I have a feeling you are no exception."

"Wrong," Ian informed him. "I'm a hopeless romantic."

"Oh, I wouldn't say _hopeless_ ," Kenneth winked.

"Well, with people like you around, Kenny," Ian smiled, walking past him, towards the door. "One would tend to forget that romance even exists."

"Oh, I know how to do romance, Ian Gallagher," Kenneth said, standing up straight. "You just have to give me the chance to show you."

"Not a chance," Ian said and he turned away from Kenneth and continued on his way to the door.

"Damn," Kenneth said loudly behind him. "I know what I'll be thinking about tonight."

Ian tilted his head sideways to see Kenneth ogling his butt.

"It's already tonight," Ian apprised him.

" _Exactly_ ," Kenneth grinned from ear to ear, as he brought one of his hands to the zipper on his jeans and started to unzip them, slowly.

Ian hurried inside, face burning wildly.

* * *

"Hey, you look bored," Mickey said, stopping next to Ian.

"Drunk?" Ian asked, raising his voice over the music.

"Getting there," Mickey said, holding his can up for Ian to see. He hated that about parties, the fact that you had to over-emphasise everything just so that people knew what you were talking about. Ian rolled his eyes. "So, are you? Bored, I mean."

Ian shrugged. "Nah, I'm fine," he told him. "I'm slightly amused, I must say."

Ian looked around the room at people dancing badly and singing badly. There were various conversations occurring all over the room and all the sounds mingled together to create one large murmur.

"Hey, hot stuff."

Ian turned instantly and saw Kenneth standing there. His skin was smooth and looked more tan in the bright lights of Mickey's mother's chandelier. Mickey looked at Kenneth, too, confusion on his face.

"No one says 'hot stuff' any more, Kenneth," Ian said, rolling his eyes again. "This isn't the nineties."

"Milkovich," Kenneth greeted Mickey, ignoring Ian's remark.

"Ian has a point, you know, Kenny," Mickey said, gravely. "Hot stuff isn't cool any more. In fact, I don't think it was ever cool."

Kenny laughed out loud and laid a hand on Ian's shoulder. Ian took a step back out of his reach. "I suppose you'd know what's cool, wouldn't you, Mickey?" Kenneth grinned. "Or maybe Ian here can get me up to scratch, if you know what I mean."

"Or not," Ian said, face sombre.

"Maybe next time, eh? Well, I'll see you later, Ian," Kenneth smiled, brightly, ignoring Mickey entirely. "I'm going to go _mingle._ "

Ian and Mickey watched him disappear into the crowds, then Mickey turned to look at Ian questioningly.

"What?" Ian asked.

"Nothing," Mickey shrugged. After a minute, he spoke again. "He, um, seems to like you."

Ian smirked, because Mickey was _jealous_ and even though things weren't the same any more and Ian could never have Mickey, it still felt good that he still liked him like that. Of course, later when he thought about it, it would only make him feel worse, but for now it just felt good.

"Well, I am a pretty likeable guy," Ian teased.

"Don't I know it," Mickey murmured and took a long swig from his can. "Empty. Gonna go get another. I'll see you later, okay?"

As he began walking away, his arm brushed Ian's and they exchanged a glance, then frowned. Ian thought about telling Mickey to take it easy on the alcohol, because he didn't want him to do anything dumb, but he didn't because this was how Mickey seemed to cope.

"Are you.. are you okay?" Ian asked, quietly.

"No," Mickey told him. "But let's face it, I never really have been."

* * *

"Mickey Milkovich is out of his mind drunk," Mercedes informed Ian, sitting down next to him.

Ian frowned because he knew just why Mickey was making himself so drunk. He wanted to escape, to forget. He remembered what he had said to him the first time he had seen him drunk. _Don't you like the feeling of getting away from everything? Just for a little while? Don't you just want everything to fuck off just for a little while?_ Now, more than ever, Mickey had good reason to want to get far, far away from reality.

"It is his birthday," Ian said. "I guess he's got the right to get drunk out of his mind."

"The boy's going to do himself some damage."

Ian only had a split second to be concerned, because a loud, high-pitched voice sounded then.

"GUYS!"

Ian looked up and saw the neon pink figure that was Rachel Berry coming towards them. "Can you guys do me a favour?"

"No," both Ian and Mercedes said in unison.

"Oh, come on!" Rachel urged. "Pleaseeeee?"

"What do you want, Rachel?" Mercedes sighed. Ian kept his eyes on the ground, because Rachel's outfit was giving him a serious headache. The last thing he needed was a headache on top everything else.

"I've been dying for the bathroom for the past hour, but I've been too scared to go in there in case someone bursts in!"

"That's what the lock is for, Rachel," Ian informed her and he hoped nobody would question him as to how he even knew there was a lock on the bathroom door in Mickey's house. Thankfully, nobody did.

"I'm too afraid to lock the door!" Rachel told them. "What if I get locked in? I've got terrible claustrophobia and I'm not sure I could—"

"Oh, come on," Ian said, standing up, with a sigh, tired of listening to her babbling. "I'll do it if it'll make you stop going on and on and on."

Rachel professed her sincere gratitude and Mercedes said she would come, too. Minutes later, Ian and Mercedes were sitting on the top steps of the staircase in Mickey's house, while Rachel used the toilet.

"This is the quietest place in the entire house," Mercedes said, leaning her head against the wall. She was right, too. Loud music poured through the rest of the house, as well as people laughing and shouting and chatting away. Up there, the music felt distant and the soft murmurs sounded as if they were a million miles away. It was nice to get away from it for a bit.

Rachel came out a few minutes later. She said thank you, then skipped downstairs to find Finn. Ian and Mercedes stayed there.

"So, the Valentine's dance is on in about three and a half weeks," Mercedes said. "You gonna go?"

A Valentine's dance. That was exactly what he needed to remind him of how painfully lonely he was in the romance department.

Ian laughed, quietly. "Not very likely, is it?"

"It could be fun," Mercedes shrugged. "I mean, we'll have to see Mickey Milkovich and Quinn Fabray get crowned Valentine's Prince and Princess, but besides that."

Ian most definitely did not want to see that. He wondered then if Quinn would be crowned Valentine's Princess, because it was possible that her bump would be showing by then. Maybe it would be fun to see her face when she didn't win. Ian scolded himself for being so horrible, then. That was an awful thing to think.

"Nah," he said. "I don't think so."

"Last year Iggyerman set off the fire alarm and coach Sylvester tripped and landed with her face in the punch bowl," Mercedes informed him. "Something ridiculous always happens at these dances. You might be sorry if you don't go."

"I might be sorry if I _do_ go," Ian replied. "Chances are this 'something ridiculous' you speak of will happen to me."

"Well, think about it," Mercedes told him

Ian said nothing, just nodded.

* * *

The figures at the top of the stairs were a big, colourful blur of light. He squinted his eyes and climbed the steps, legs wobbling. They were like mountains, these steps. He had to reach the top. When he got there he would shout EUREKA! at the top of his lungs.

The world was beautiful, so fucking magical and beautiful and he just wanted to.. to sing and learn how to fly and catch all 150 Pokémon and take them back to his mom to show her he was the Pokémon master and not that asshole Gary. But first he had to get to the top of this mountain.

He fell to his knees as he made the great endeavour to overcome these large, heavy obstacles. He could do this. He _would_ do this! He clawed his way past the rough rocks and the snowy hills and the crowd was cheering his name.

 _Mickey!_

 _Mickey!_

 _Mickey!_

* * *

"Mickey!" Ian exclaimed when he saw him falling down one step. He began crawling then, his face filled with determination like he was conquering Mount Everest and not a flight of stairs in his own home.

"I told you he was going to do himself damage," Mercedes said, tiredly beside Ian.

Ian looked down at him. He was a mess. His eyes were half-lidded and his jaw was clenched and his shirt looked twisted. His hair was stuck to his forehead, stray curls coming loose. Ian shook his head.

"Maybe we should help him," he suggested.

"He's almost there, leave him be!" Mercedes smiled. "He looks like he's competing in the Olympics, look at his face."

Ian didn't want to look at his face. He wanted to get him away from there, away from all of them, because when Mickey was drunk, he revealed so many things and Ian only wanted him to reveal these things to him. It was stupid, because he and Mickey weren't really what one could classify as real friends, or anything else really, but he couldn't help it.

Finally, Mickey arrived at the top of the stairs, grinning lopsidedly.

"Ian," he breathed. "I did it!"

Ian stifled a smile. "Yeah, congrats."

"You did real good, Mickey," Mercedes chuckled.

Mickey continued smiling as he moved to sit down on the step beneath the one Ian and Mercedes were occupying. He sat down and almost fell and they had to reach out and steady him. Mickey looked up then and his eyes were all light and fire.

"Mercedes," Mickey uttered, but he kept his eyes locked with Ian's. "Ian's got blue eyes."

Mercedes bit her bottom lip to control her laughter. "Yes, he does."

"Ian," Mickey said, climbing to his knees. "Your blue shirt matches your blue eyes and now everything is blue."

"Um, okay," Ian said, with a smile.

Mickey looked up at Mercedes then and tilted his head to the side.

"Mercedes," he said again. "Did I show you what Ian got me for my birthday?"

Ian froze, his heart beat speeding up.

"No," Mercedes said, with some amusement.

"It was just a book voucher," Ian said, quickly. "Right, Mickey?" He looked down into Mickey's bright eyes and tried to send a signal, but nothing was registering, obviously.

"No!" Mickey laughed out loud. "No, he got me _this_!"

Mickey raised his arm as if he was a superhero about to soar off into the clouds. he reached up and tugged his sleeve down lazily to reveal the silver links hanging loosely around his wrist. Ian didn't know what to do. This was bad in every sense of the word.

"I didn't—"

Ian tried to deny it, but Mickey cut him off.

"Look, read the words," he smiled and held it out for Mercedes to see. She glanced at Ian, questioningly, then squinted to look at the bracelet. Ian felt his cheeks heating up. How was he going to get out of this one?

"'I keep thinking in a moment time will take them away'," Mercedes read, slowly, her hand clasped around Mickey's arm. "'But these feelings won't go away' _._ " She looked up at Ian then, sheer horror on her face. "What's goi—"

"Wait!" Mickey said, happily. "You haven't heard the best part, yet!" Ian sat still as Mickey reached over and took his hand. He raised it a little and pushed his sleeve away and then Ian's matching bracelet was on view.

"'I want to take you far from the cynics of this town and kiss you on the mouth'," Mercedes whispered. "Ian, are you—"

"Sometimes Ian and I would go to the field and look at the stars," Mickey said, dreamily. His eyes were half-lidded again and he was smiling, gazing vacantly into nothingness. "One time, we took off all our clothes—"

"Mickey!" Ian said, alarmed. "Mickey, don—"

"And we made love under the stars and it was the best night of my life," Mickey said, now looking up at the ceiling as if the stars were up there. He sighed. "But Ian doesn't want me like that any more."

Ian frowned at that. He didn't know whether he should shake Mickey and tell him he couldn't say these things in front of others, or shake him and tell him that he needed to get it into his head that Ian still wanted him, that he would always want him.

"Ian, what's—"

"Mercedes," Ian said, sounding a little breathless. His stomach was filled with butterflies, all darting around and flirting with one another. "I promise you I will explain everything, just please help me get him inside his room. He can't say anything like that in front of anyone else. _Please,_ Mercedes _._ "

Mercedes looked confused, as she stared back at Ian . Mickey was humming, still smiling at the ceiling. Ian pleaded with Mercedes with his eyes, hoping she would say yes, because if Mickey said anything like that downstairs in front of anyone else, he was finished. His entire life would topple over the cliff and into the fast running water below. Ian couldn't let that happen.

"Please," he said, quietly.

Mercedes nodded. "Okay."

* * *

"So, you're sleeping with him," Mercedes said, sounding as if she didn't really believe it. "You're sleeping with Mickey Milkovich."

"No," Ian told her. "I did. Like, once, or twice."

Mercedes didn't need to know the exact number of times anyway.

"Once or twice?" she asked, eyes almost popping. "But how? Mickey... Quinn.. I mean.." She trailed off with a shake of her head.

"He has a lot of issues," Ian informed her, simply.

Which was sort of another understatement, but he didn't really want to share the details of Mickey's issues with anyone without Mickey's go ahead. They sat there on Mickey's stairs in silence for another few minutes, the part still in full swing downstairs.

"I don't understand any of this," Mercedes told him finally.

Ian sighed, because he couldn't explain the entire situation without adding in the little fact that Quinn was having Mickey's baby. He had promised to keep quiet about that and he would, no matter what.

"I don't know what to tell you," Ian frowned. "It's complicated, but it's over, so there's nothing to worry about now."

People kept leaving through the front door and every time they entered the hallways downstairs, Ian and Mercedes stopped speaking immediately. Now, Azimio had come outside and was opening the front door to leave.

"So, what are you going to do now?" Mercedes asked, once Azimio had left the hall.

"I don't know," Ian told her, truthfully. "I guess I should make sure he's okay, right?"

Mercedes just nodded. "Should we tell people to leave?"

"Mayb—"

Iggy and Kenneth walked out into the hall, laughing. Mercedes and Ian froze and watched them. Ian willed them to just leave, but Kenneth somehow managed to spot him.

"Hey, hottie," he shouted.

Ian sighed and rolled his eyes. "Not now," he groaned.

"When?" Kenny smirked from the bottom of the stairs. "How about tomorrow night?"

"How about never?" Ian suggested. The guy just didn't know how to take no for an answer.

"Until next time, Gallagher," Kenny said with a wink and then he followed Iggy out the door.

"Who in the—"

"Don't ask."

"Do you like him?" Mercedes said, nudging him with her elbow.

"No."

"But you like Mickey Milkovich?"

Ian paused. "Also no."

"I knew you were crushing on him!" Mercedes said, face suddenly lighting up.

"I said no—"

"I may be tired and I may have a headache, Ian, but I know these things," she said and she grabbed the banister rail and pulled herself to her feet. "I will go get rid of everyone else and I will go home and you can go make sure lover boy is still in one piece."

Ian thought about arguing back, but he was too tired at that stage. He sighed and nodded.

"Okay," he said. "Thanks."

"Don't thank me, Gallagher," Mercedes called back. "I expect a full explanation tomorrow!"

* * *

Mickey didn't wake up until the following morning. He sat up, feeling confused and his head was pounding. Then he saw the figure sleeping on the end of his bed.

 _Ian._

He didn't remember last night, so he couldn't have said what exactly had happened, but he was fully clothed, which was a good thing. It was odd that he felt sort of disappointed about that, though. He shook his head and groaned then forced himself to climb down the end.

He looked down at Ian sleeping, his lips parted and eyes closed. He had watched Ian sleeping so many times before. He wondered if he should leave him alone, let him sleep, but he needed to ask him all the questions that were swimming round in his mind.

Mickey reached out and took Ian's shoulders gently in his hands and shook him softly.

"Ian," he hissed and Ian stirred. It took him a few moments to open his eyes entirely and when he did, he smiled and Mickey smiled back, but then Ian's smile faded to a frown and he sat up quickly.

"What are— Oh. Right," he said, seemingly relieved.

"I know something bad happened," Mickey said with a sigh. "So what was it?"

He could sense it, otherwise, why would Ian even be here?

"Well," Ian began, sitting up and running his fingers through his sand-brown hair. "To put it bluntly, you sort of gave us away in front of Mercedes."

And just when he thought things couldn't get any worse, he had gone and done something like that.

* * *

"Relax," Ian told Mickey, who seemed to be having some sort of silent panic attack. "Look, if I ask her not to, she won't tell a soul. It'll be okay."

"Okay" Mickey whispered and then they were quiet for a long time.

Ian couldn't stop thinking about what Mickey had said to Mercedes the night before, about the night in the field being the best night of his life, about how he had said Ian didn't want him like that any more. For the millionth time, he wished things were different. He never wished to erase what had happened, because despite the fact that it was a complicated mess and that it had broken his heart, he wouldn't give up how he had felt when he was with Mickey for the world. It was strange, it was the greatest feeling in the world, but sometimes, he couldn't help but hate it because of what it did to him.

"Mickey," Ian said, after a while and Mickey looked up at him with those copper coloured eyes. "I know it's not my place to tell you this and I know you're going through a lot, but I think maybe you should stop with the large amount of alcohol consumption. I know it takes away the pain for a short time and you need that, but it's not doing you any favours. You wake up feeling worse, you barely know what you're doing when you're drunk on it. By trying to make things better, you're making things worse. Just a suggestion."

Mickey sighed. "I know," he said, quietly. "I just need to get away, Ian. I want to run away and never come back, but I could never do that."

Ian nodded. He knew what that was like. When he had been on his old school and had to deal with the extreme bullying, he had spent every day wanting to get away, in whatever way he could, but there was his dad and he couldn't leave his dad.

"I mean, there's this whole baby thing, obviously, but now she wants to promote us for this dumb Valentine's dance. I mean, I think we have bigger things to worry about than that. I can't believe I let this happen."

"I'd like to tell you it's not your fault, but.." Ian trailed off, because he didn't want to rub it in.

"I know, it is," Mickey nodded. "I just.. I wish I could go back, start again. But I don't even know what that means. If I went back to the beginning, what would I do? And where is the beginning, anyway? I still don't know what's going on with me—with you, with Quinn—I just don't know. So, if I went back, I don't know what would happen. I think I would do the exact same thing and then it leaves me right back at square one."

"I know, I think," Ian said, thoughtfully. He understood, to an extent, anyway.

"Sorry," Mickey said, shaking his head. "I'm always moping. Um, thank you, for the, um, bracelet. It's.. Well. It's awesome."

Ian only shrugged and gave Mickey a small smile.

"Can I ask you something?" Mickey said, then, crossing his legs. "I might regret asking this, because it might make things worse, but I have to know."

"Go for it," Ian shrugged, trying to play it cool. He was a bag of nerves every time someone asked if they could ask him something.

"The lyrics on the bracelet," he said, slowly. "Is that.. Is that how you feel?"

 _Yes._

"I don't know."

"Me neither," Mickey sighed.

* * *

He had no idea how it had happened, but Ian's tongue was in his mouth and Mickey had his hand on Ian's left butt cheek. It was strange, Mickey knew that he wanted Ian, but until they were touching, he had no idea to hat extent he wanted him. It turned out that he wanted him quite a lot.

"Okay," Ian said, pushing him off, gently. "Okay, no. You are having a baby."

Mickey frowned and sat back. "As if I could forget."

"Sorry," Ian uttered.

"It's okay," Mickey exhaled heavily. "Thank you for stopping it, because I probably wouldn't have."

"Will power, Milkovich," Ian grinned and Mickey's heart dropped to the ground and then bounced its way back up again. He hated how badly he wanted Ian, hated how he noticed these ridiculous little details, like his slow-motion blinking and his fluid movement and the sparkle he got in his eyes every time he teased Mickey.

"Apparently, I have none."

"Apparently not," Ian chuckled. "Okay, so we need to make sure that doesn't happen again, okay?"

Mickey just nodded. Ian seemed to study him for a long time, that ice blue gaze drinking him in.

"You'll get over this, you know."

"You, you mean?"

Ian shrugged, absently. "Me, if you like."

"Doesn't seem plausible," Mickey told him, truthfully.

"You sleeping with another guy didn't seem plausible a few months ago, either," Ian reminded him. "And look how that turned out."

"Maybe.." Mickey began. "Maybe I don't want to get over you."

Ian shook his head in disapproval. "You have to," he told Mickey. "Look, Mickey. I still don't know what this was, this whole thing with us. I think you do know, deep down, you're just scared to admit it, to me, to yourself, even. In the end, you chose to be the guy you've pretended to be for your whole life and yeah, okay, I get it. It's not necessarily what I would do, but I get it. Circumstances are different and stuff, so yeah, I can accept it. But Mickey, you can't have it both ways. You're either this guy," Ian said and he took Mickey's wrist gently into his hand and pressed his own bracelet to Mickey's. "Or you're this guy," and he bent to pick up Mickey's letterman jacket. "You can't have it both was."

Mickey knew he was right. Ian was always right.

"I know," he said.

"I know that doesn't make it any easier, that you're still going to have to deal with whatever feelings you're experiencing," Ian continued. "But things will get better. They always do, even when you don't think they can."

Mickey chuckled, then. "Every guy needs a Ian Gallagher in his life to guide him in the right direction."

Ian didn't laugh, he smiled sadly. "Actually, Mickey," he said, sounding tired. "You're not really going in the right direction, you're just going in the direction that you think you have to go and because I like you, I'm still going to be here for you."

"Thank you," Mickey said, because he didn't know what else to say.

"No problem," Ian said as he climbed up off the bed and on to his feet. "I'll see you at school, or you can call me if you need to, but only if you need to."

"Alright," Mickey smiled up at him.

"Happy Birthday, Mickey," Ian said giving him a small smile, before he disappeared out the door.

Sure, it was his birthday, but he was far from happy and as far as he could see it, he never would be again.


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19:**

Ian had tried to avoid Mercedes at school on Monday, but it turned out that this was not an easy fete. She found him by his locker at lunch and told him he owed her an explanation, which he guessed he did.

"Basically, it started off as a drunken mistake that just didn't know how to end, okay?" he informed her. "I don't know what that means regarding his sexuality or whatever and I don't care, either. It's over."

Except Ian did care and he knew Mickey was gay. He had no qualms or doubts, he just _knew._

"But you like him?"

"He's attractive and the only guy to take any interest in me," Ian said, with a shrug. That didn't give away much. He hadn't denied it, nor had he admitted to it.

"Not exactly true," Mercedes muttered and Ian was about to ask what she meant by that, but she was looking behind him.

Ian turned and saw a now-familiar face looking back at him, clad in the same leather jacket, with his golden hair falling over his eyes. Ian sighed. It hadn't occurred to him that Kenny living with Iggy meant he would be attending school here.

"I'll see you later, Ian," Mercedes said, quickly. "I have to go meet Rachel and Tina."

Ian tried to protest, to beg her not to leave him alone with Kenny, but she was gone and now, Kenny was there next to him.

"Hey, pretty boy," Kenny smiled, all-teeth.

"Don't call me that," Ian muttered, remembering the last time he had been called that. His heart contracted and he turned away from Kenny.

"Why not?"

Ian ignored him and began to dig around in his locker for nothing in particular.

"So, you, me, tonight, Breadstix?" Kenny smiled. "Whaddya say?"

"I say in your dreams," Ian rolled his eyes.

"Oh, we don't go to Breadstix in my dreams, Gallagher," Kenny informed him, one eyebrow tilting upwards. "We stay right at home in the comfort of my bedroom. Or yours, depending on which dream you're referring to."

Ian felt his face flushing at the idea of Kenny thinking about him in that way. He closed his locker with a loud bang, then pulled his bag up on to his shoulder and began walking down the halls. Kenny followed him, walking a few paces behind. Ian could feel his eyes on him and he felt uncomfortable.

"The things I would do to that ass," Kenny said, behind him, whistling low and loud.

Ian slowed down and turned to wait for Kenny to catch up with him.

"Look," he said, firmly. "This isn't going to happen, okay?"

"Oh, really?" Kenny asked, just grinning.

"Really," Ian affirmed. "You're not my type."

"Oh, we have a type now, do we?"

Ian hated when people did that, when people referred to him as 'we'. "Yes and you're not it," Ian clarified. "So, no, I will not go out with you."

"I wasn't asking you to go out with me, Ian," Kenny smirked, taking a step closer. "I'm asking you to come home with me."

"Even worse," Ian shook his head, trying to ignore the intense heat sweeping up the back of his neck. "I'm not going to sleep with you. I'm not into the whole 'look-at-me-I'm-a-badass-but-it's-hard-to-convince-people-of-this-because-my-name-is-Kenneth' thing. So, give up."

"Virgins," Kenny said, with an exasperated sigh.

"I," Ian informed him. "Am not a virgin."

He probably should have shut up and allowed him to think that he was, maybe then he would leave him alone, but Ian's verbal diarrhoea seemed to strike at the most inconvenient times.

"Oh, yeah?" Kenny grinned. "I have this gay-guy intuition and I bet you're a bottom. No guy in his right mind would pass up the chance to be inside that a—"

"Okay!" Ian said, quickly. He had bottomed more than he had topped, that was true, but only because Mickey seemed to enjoy finge— He stopped, shook his head, trying to rid his mind of Mickey and Mickey's fingers and where he liked to have them, because he was trying to forget Mickey, trying to get over him. Which was obviously working out so well.

"Oh, come on, Gallagher," Kenny said, following him. "One night, that's all I'm asking."

"You realise you're begging me for sex, Kenneth," Ian said, staring straight ahead.

"Well, it doesn't look like I'm going to get it anywhere else around here," he replied, sounding disappointed.

"You are obviously looking in all the wrong places, then."

"Who?"

"What?"

"Who else is gay?"

"I'm not going to tell you," Ian smirked looking back at him. "Use your 'gay-guy intuition'."

* * *

"Hey, you're late," Iggy said, when Kenny sat down at the tale at lunch. Mickey wished he could wipe the smirk that seemed to be permanently on his face off. He scowled down into his pasta.

"I was doing a little wooing," Kenny informed Iggy.

"Wooing?" Iggy asked, mouth full. "Wooing who?"

"One Ian Gallagher."

Mickey looked up quickly, suddenly interested.

"Please," Iggy said, spitting chips every where. "Gallagher isn't your type. He won't put out."

"Because you'd know," Kenny smirked. "But, nope, apparently he is not a virgin, so all is not lost."

Mickey did not add that this was true, nor did he point out that he was the reason that this was true, because that would probe a lot of questions that he did not feel like answering right now.

"Pretty sure he's lying to you," Iggy told him, taking a swig from a can of coke. "I mean, he's _Gallagher_."

"He happens to be a hot piece of ass," Kenny declared and Mickey felt his stomach twisting. He had no right to feel jealous because of this, but he couldn't help it. He wanted to shove Kenny against a wall and tell him to back off, that Ian was his. But Ian wasn't his, not now. In fact, he never really had been.

"Heard you're pretty pally with him, Milkovich," Kenny said, looking across the table at Mickey, with those dark-as-night eyes.

"What?" Mickey said, looking up, trying to look oblivious. "Oh, we're in glee together and we have to work as partners for English, but that's it." Which was technically true, if you didn't count the part where they'd slept together (way more than once), or when Ian had helped him with his concussion, or when Mickey had told him he loved him..

"So, maybe you could put in a good word for me," Kenny grinned. "You know, when you're slaving over Shakespeare, or whatever you could maybe slip in what a stud I am."

 _No_ , Mickey thought. _I cannot._

"I'm not a big fan of lying, Kenny," Mickey told him and he laughed silently, in spite of himself. Saying that he didn't lie was a lie in itself. Mickey was the master of lies and pretences. So, in lying about not lying, he was lying again. It seemed that things just kept on piling up and pretty soon, it would all tip over and smother him to death.

"Ha-ha, funny, Milkovich," Kenny said, pulling that awful leather jacket up on his shoulders. Mickey had know Kenny since they were about five and Mickey couldn't remember a day past the age of fourteen when Kenny had not been wearing it. Kenny reached into the inside pocket of said jacket and pulled out a battered schedule. "I have—ah, math next. Who wants to walk me to class?"

* * *

"Ian!"

Ian stood up from his desk and ran upstairs to see what his dad needed. He couldn't help feeling a twinge of nervousness every time his dad shouted down for him, always fearful that he was sick again. However, when he reached the hallway, his dad was standing there with the phone pressed to his shoulder.

"What's wrong?" Ian asked, instinctively.

"There's a Kenneth Iggyerman on the phone for you," Frank told him, a disapproving look on his face. "Says it's important."

Ian rolled his eyes. 'Important' probably meant Kenny had a hard-on and wanted phone sex, or something. He took the phone with a sigh and held it up to his ear, aware of his dad lingering by the living room door.

"What?" Ian said, flatly.

"Aww, baby," Kenny said on the other end. "It's nice to hear your voice, too."

"What do you want, Kenny?" Ian sighed, leaning back against the wall. He was not in the mood to have to deal with Kenny right now.

"You."

"Well, you're out of luck," Ian told him, tiredly.

"Aw, come on," Kenny urged. "I'll even take you to dinner beforehand."

Beforehand. Meaning before sex. How romantic.

"I'll have to pass."

"I won't give up, Gallagher," Kenny informed him, sounding happy. "They can never resist me in the end."

"I have standards, Kenneth," Ian apprised him, firmly. "I don't just sleep with any Tom, Dick, or Harry." He said that last part very quietly, because his dad was only a few feet away and the walls were thin.

"Hey, Ian," Kenny said and Ian could hear the lopsided smirk in his voice. "Say the word 'dick' again, that was hot."

Ian slammed the phone down and brushed his dad's questions off with a wave. He went back down to his room to do his homework and mope some more about Mickey Milkovich, because that was all he seemed to do any more.

* * *

"Hey, pretty boy."

Ian rolled his eyes and turned around, prepared for Kenny's smirking face. He had called him every day that week and Ian was really getting sick of his incessant bad pick-up lines and having to tell his dad it was nothing, that he didn't need to worry.

"I told you not to call me tha..."

He stopped still, because next to Kenny, was Mickey Milkovich, looking as gorgeous as always. Ian found that the Mickey he pictured when he wasn't around did not do the real Mickey Milkovich any justice in the least. He was far more beautiful in person, than the one in Ian's head, despite the fact that Ian had spent hours memorising his every feature.

Mickey was looking back at him, cautiously, his golden-brown eyes wide and bright. Ian straightened himself up and closed his locker.

"Playing hard to get?" Kenny quipped beside Mickey.

"No," Ian told him. "Just ignoring you."

He saw Mickey smiling slightly, just the corners of his mouth twitching an inch upwards, but it was still a smile.

"That's okay," Kenny said, brightly. "Keep that voice rested for the epic phone sex later. Usual time?"

Ian saw Mickey frowning and then Ian frowned, too. He groaned, then turned on his heel and headed in the other direction.

* * *

"Is he bothering you?" Mickey asked later on when they were in the library. It was sort of nice to be back where, Ian thought, back where it had all begun. "Because I can tell him to lay off, you know, if you want me to."

"Forget about him," Ian said, scribbling something about Jane's strong persona down in his notebook.

They were silent for a long time and Ian kept writing, but Mickey sat there, looking as if he was deep in thought, his eyebrows furrowed and jaw set tightly. Ian pretended not to notice, as he flicked through his copy of 'Jane Eyre' and jotted down quotes.

"You know what, I can't," Mickey said, finally, his voice raised a little. The librarian shushed them from the main desk and Mickey looked aggravated.

"You can't what?" Ian asked, in a hushed tone.

"I can't forget him," Mickey shook his head.

"Kenny?" Ian asked, slowly. "You.. You're not.. You're not crushing on him, are you?" Ian was mortified, because 1) if it was true, Mickey had gotten over Ian in record time and 2) Kenny was an asshole. Also, Mickey's girlfriend was pregnant with his baby, so the entire situation was very much shock-worthy.

"What?" Mickey said, voice raising a little again. "No! No, of course not! What the hell, Ian?"

Ian shook his head, relief soaring through his body. "Sorry," he said. "Why can't you forget about him, then?"

"I don't know," Mickey said. "But it's not like that. I can't stand the guy, trust me."

Ian said nothing, just watched Mickey as he sat there looking mad and frustrated. It was amusing and annoying and cute and ridiculous and Ian didn't know if he wanted to hit him or kiss him.

"He'll hurt you, you know," Mickey told him, finally, his golden eyes filled with intensity. "He just wants you for sex."

"Mickey," Ian said, with a sigh. "Am I an idiot? Do I look like an idiot to you?"

"No, of course no—"

"I _know_ what he wants, okay?" Ian informed him. "I'm not interested."

Mickey nodded and they were silent again, so Ian went back to writing in his notebook. He couldn't help smiling a little at the idea of Mickey being so interested in some other guy's interest in him, which was stupid, because while it was nice to know Mickey still liked him, it would do him no good. He would never have Mickey.

"I don't want you to get hurt."

Ian looked up when he heard the whisper coming from across the table. Mickey was looking right at him with those bright eyes. Ian looked back at him, scowling slightly.

"I'm not stupid, Mickey."

"I know," Mickey told him. "I know and I don't think you are, honestly. I just.. Ian, I know him, okay? I know what he's like. He came to stay with Iggy most summers. He goes through guys like you go through cans of hairspray." Ian raised an eyebrow at that, but Mickey just shook his head. "He pretends like he likes them, he sleeps with them, then he just leaves them there, wondering what they did wrong, leaves them heart broken. I don't want that to happen to you."

Ian was angry, because Mickey was acting as if he was too dumb to come to this conclusion all by himself. He groaned and tightened his hands on the arms of his chair.

"Gosh, Mickey," Ian said, voice cutting. "Heart broken, you say? Well, we wouldn't want that, now would we? Oh, wait— _too fucking late_."

Ian watched as Mickey opened his mouth into a small 'o' shape, his eyes crinkling a little at the sides. "Ian," Mickey said, shaking his head again. "Ian, no. No, I—You know I—Ian.." Mickey trailed off, searching for words, but none came.

He would feel bad about it later, but for now he was just mad. Mickey had no right to talk to him about being heart broken when he had been the one to break his heart in the first place.

"I never meant to hurt you," Mickey told him, quietly.

"Regardless," Ian said, stiffly. "You don't get to tell me to be careful of having my heart broken when you're the one that.." He trailed off, because he couldn't admit to Mickey that he had broken him. "Can we not talk about this?"

"Look, I just meant be careful, that's all."

"Oh my God," Ian exhaled. "Do you even know me? Do you think I would go near him? Do you think I'm—I'm drawn to assholes, or something? God, Mickey."

"Maybe," Mickey said, quietly, eyes on his books. He was twirling his pen between his fingers.

"What?" Ian asked. "Maybe what?"

"Maybe you are drawn to assholes."

"Mickey—"

"Look, it doesn't matter, okay?" Mickey sighed and looked up to meet Ian's curious eyes. "I just—just want you to be okay."

"I am okay," Ian told him, with a nod.

"Really?" Mickey asked, flatly.

"Really, Mickey," Ian said with an inclination of his head. "I'm really just okay."

* * *

"Hey, baby."

"I'm hanging up," Ian sighed and began to hang up, but he heard the voice shouting on the other end. "What?" he asked, lifting it back to his ear.

"Meet me tonight?"

Ian sighed, because this was getting beyond ridiculous.

"Do I need a restraining order, Kenny?"

"Not at all," Kenny told him. "Don't resist."

"Okay, I'm hanging up—"

"Wait!"

Ian waited, against his own better judgment.

"I figured something out."

"What's that?" Ian asked, with no interest whatsoever.

"I figured out that the best way into a glee guy's pants," he began. "Is through music."

"Oh, God," Ian gasped. "You're not going to sing, are you? I'm hanging up, oh my God—"

"No," Kenny said and Ian listened. "I sent you a song on your cell."

"Good bye, Kenny," Ian said, rolling his eyes and this time he did hang up. He pushed his hand into his pocket and grabbed his cell, just out of interest. He pressed 'play mp3' and the music started. Ian almost dropped his phone.

 _"I can make your bed rock,_

 _I can make your bed rock, girl,_

 _I can make your_ —"

Ian shut it off, quickly, his cheeks burning. This was unbelievable. How were real people even like this?

"What in the name of all that is holy.." Frank asked, walking out into the hall.

"I might possibly need a restraining order," Ian told him, eyes still wide.

"That Mickey kid?"

"Wha—Mickey? No," Ian shook his head. "No, not Mickey."

Frank raised one eyebrow and screwed his face up in confusion. "What happened to Mickey?"

"Long story?" Ian offered.

"I've got time."

* * *

"So, this kid just decided he wanted to go back to being straight with his girlfriend," Frank repeated for the fourth time.

"Yes, dad."

"Okay," Frank said, slowly. "Why do we need a restraining order?"

"Because Kenny."

"God, I wish your mom was here, all this guy talk is.. Well, it doesn't matter. Who's Kenny?"

Ian sighed, because his dad wanted to talk to him about things, he was just finding it hard to adjust, but, hey, at least he was trying.

"Um," Ian said. "Kenny is the guy who keeps calling and won't leave me alone."

"Why won't he leave you alone?"

"He wants to—um, he wants me to go out with him," Ian settled finally, because telling your dad that a guy was pestering you because he wanted to get your pants off probably wasn't a wise move.

"So, why don't you?"

"Why don't I what?"

"Why don't you go out with him?"

"With Kenny?" Ian exclaimed. He had to be kidding.

"Well, yeah," Frank shrugged a broad shoulder. "It might get your mind off the other guy—Mickey."

Ian gaped at his dad. He could never get his mind off Mickey, not for a moment. He was pretty sure a quickie in the back of Kenny's car was not going to take his mind off Mickey, either. Besides, he didn't want a quickie in the back of Kenny's car. He wanted to put an axe through the back of Kenny's car and maybe through the front, too. Maybe if he removed the tires, then Kenny could bring a whole new meaning to bedrock. Maybe he could run with his feet out the bottom of the car, like in the Flintstones. Ian shook his head. He was always imagining things that would never happen.

"No, dad," Ian said, adamantly.

"Well, you're clearly beat up about it. Don't think I don't notice."

Because apparently his dad had super gaydar _and_ could read minds.

"Dad, Kenneth Iggyerman is an asshole," Ian provided.

"Doesn't mean a thing," Frank told him and Ian had been about to protest, but Frank went on. "The last guy you told me was an asshole ended up in your bed several times."

Ian's jaw dropped and his dad laughed a little.

"You know, Ian, I meant you let him stay in your room when he was drunk, but that expression tells me there's more to it."

Ian stared after his dad, who had gotten up, given him an affectionate pat on the shoulder and then continued out the door.

Mickey had said much of the same thing, with regards to the whole 'asshole' issue. Mickey was all he thought about, really, but that didn't mean he wasn't mad at him. He was mad at everything. He was mad that Mickey would choose to take the fake path to the rest of his life, when he could have been honest. Sure, he had a lot of issues, what with his dad and the football team, but he would have gotten through them. Hell, Ian would have been glad to help him. He didn't have to be with Quinn if he didn't want to, baby or not. Mickey had taken the cowards way out and Ian did feel pity for him, in some respects, but now he was just mad.

He remembered how he had tried to warn him against having his heart broken, when it was impossible, because his heart was already in pieces. Mickey had told him he loved him, then left him. Mickey had kissed him, had said that he thought Ian didn't want him, had acted as if he still wanted to be with him, but Mickey took the coward's way out and went with his head instead of his heart.

Ian sighed and told himself he would regret it, but he did it anyway, because everything hurt. He pulled his phone out and hit the calls list, then pressed the green button and waited. A few moments later, a voice answered.

"Hello?"

"Kenny," Ian said. "About meeting up tonight. Where did you have in mind?"

* * *

"Why aren't you eating?" Mickey's dad demanded sternly from the end of the dinner table.

"Yes, Mickey," his mom said, looking concerned. "You haven't touched your potatoes." His mom was having a good day, she was sort of bright and like she used to be before the depression had kicked in. Now, she only had good days once in a blue moon.

"Just tired," Mickey muttered. He wasn't lying, either. His stomach felt sick and he had a headache, from too much tension. At this rate, he was going to give himself a heart attack.

"Are you still doing that glee club nonsense?"

Mickey sighed and nodded, because trying to explain that it was not nonsense to his dad would only end in another violent brawl, which he did not need right now.

"That's why you're tired," he informed him, as if he was the possessor of all knowledge in the world. Mickey stayed silent.

"Are you still hanging around that faggot boy?"

Mickey's fist tightened around his cutlery and he pushed away the flaming ball that had suddenly swam into his stomach and was ready to erupt. "Yes," he said, because Mickey was hot-headed and wanted to irritate his father, even if that was probably the worst idea ever.

His dad slammed his knife and fork down, his mother flinching a little. He looked at Mickey, his expression filled with anger and disappointment and Mickey thought he might hit him again, but he didn't, he simply stood up and stormed out of the room, whispering something about him being a disgrace to the family.

Mickey frowned and looked across at his mom. She gave him a comforting smile and he smiled back weakly. Sometimes, he wished he would beat him so hard that he wouldn't wake up, but he had to live, because there was someone out there who wanted him to, who needed him to and that someone was not his unborn child. That someone had eyes the colour of the sky on a bright summer's day, like the glistening sea in the light of the sun, like a thousand stars exploding in orbit.

Mickey Milkovich had to live if just to see those eyes look at him the way they used to.

* * *

"Wh-what?" Ian asked. The room was spinning and his vision was blurred and he just wanted to _sleep_. He had no idea where he was, or why he was there or who he had just been talking to. His head felt like a bicycle pump; like air was being compressed down into it and then slowly let out again.

He needed to close his eyes, if he closed his eyes, surely it would go away. He closed his eyes tight and then felt himself falling.

 _Falling_

 _falling_

 _falling._

* * *

In his dream, he was falling. He was plummeting down into oblivion and when he reached the bottom—assuming there was a bottom—he would be surrounded by nothingness.

He didn't want to fall, even though it was a fun drop down, like flying, drifting through the air, the wind on his face, but he knew it would end badly, knew he would hit the ground, knew that when he reached the bottom, there would be no going back up again.

He didn't want to fall, so he opened his eyes.

* * *

"Oh, God. Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God, oh, God."

"I have been likened to a God in the bedroom, it's true." He stared down at the dark eyes looking up at him, the dark pits of cold, nothingness that didn't send any kind of electricity through his body, didn't cause his heart to leap, didn't make him feel alive. They were not the golden eyes he wanted.

Ian felt dizzy, dizzy and afraid. And full of regret. He didn't remember a thing from the night before. He shut his eyes tight and then opened them again, his heart beating rapidly in his chest. He took in the unfamiliar surroundings and felt the cool air on his bare skin. His pale skin blushed a bright crimson and he stood up too quickly, panicked and lost. He got his balance, then grabbed his clothes from the pile on the ground and ran as fast as he could into the bathroom.

His head was spinning wildly and his heart seemed to be running a race with it, to see which could go quickest. He dressed with lightning speed, not even caring that his shirt was inside out. He ran swiftly from the strange house and only stopped when he reached his car.

Ian had won the race of who could run fastest, but that was all he had won.

* * *

His mind was a whirl of thoughts, few of them made sense and the ones that did gave him a ripping headache. He tried to keep his shaking hands steady on the wheel. His insides seemed to be shaking along with them and he felt a dripping cold slipping down his spine and ending in a blood-curdling shudder and he just needed to shut his eyes and make it go away.

He pressed his foot down on the pedal and he sped up, because this would bring him home sooner and once at home he could sleep it off and then when he woke up later on, he could try to make sense of it all, because at that moment, nothing made sense, nothing at all.

He deviated away from a corner and cursed under his breath, because this was easily the worst he had felt since his father's heart attack. He remembered feeling as if he could not drive fast enough, afraid that if he didn't hurry, his father wouldn't still be there when he arrived. He had felt like that only recently when he had driven in the late hours of the night to check on _him._

"Oh, God," he uttered, quietly and to himself. "Mickey."

And his heart contracted and he forgot to stop and the last thing he remembered was moving far too quickly, the scenery outside the window a blur of colour and light and he whispered one little word, before the darkness consumed him.

" _Mickey._ "


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20:**

"Emergency glee club meeting!" Rachel screeched as she ran past Mickey in the school halls. He turned and watched her go.

Rachel was always so dramatic. He considered not going, because he was not in the mood of listening to her panicking over her song choice for next week's assignment. However, Mickey had class with Kenny next, which he most definitely was not looking forward to. If an emergency glee meeting could get him out of that, he would endure fifty Rachels.

When he walked into the choir room, he saw that Ian was not yet there. He didn't think anything of it as he went and sat in the back row by himself. Mercedes climbed into the row in front of him and he hoped she wouldn't turn around and say anything about what she knew. He wasn't ready for that.

Rachel was standing at the front of the room, her hands on her hips. She looked impatient as the others began to take their seats, talking and surmising what the meeting might be about. Once everyone had taken their seat, Mr Schue, who was leaning against the piano, quietened the class down, then gave Rachel a nod. Mickey figured Ian was not at school today. Also missing, was Quinn and also Iggy.

"You may be wondering why we called you hear today," Rachel said, eyes sweeping over the students. "We are not just a glee club, we are a family and a family _cares_. You may notice that we are missing a member of our family today."

Everyone looked around, confusion on their faces. Rachel rolled her dark eyes.

"Okay," she said. "We are missing more than one member, but I meant a member who actually shows up."

Oh. She meant Ian.

"As captain of this glee club, I volunteered to break this news as gently as possible. Unfortunately, Mercedes discovered something rather sad today," Rachel continued on. "I know this is interfering with our classes and that we—"

"Rachel," Mr Schuester said, warningly. "This is no time to get sidetracked."

"Of course," Rachel said. "However, I do think it should be first pointed out that—"

"Rachel!" Mercedes said, loudly and everyone's gaze fell on her. She paused a moment, then stood up. "I called Ian this morning, guys, and his dad picked up and said he'd gotten into a car accident early this morning."

Mickey's heart went still. His mind was suddenly filled with a rush of scenarios, some bad, some awful, some he didn't even want to contemplate.

"Is—is he okay?" Tina asked, worriedly, next to Mike.

"His dad said he'll be okay. It wasn't a bad crash," Mercedes told them and Mickey wondered what kind of crash was a good crash. "He has a lot of bruising and a concussion, but he'll be okay. Rachel and I just tho—"

"We were thinking we could all go and see him at the hospital," Rachel cut in at the front of the room.

Mr Schue stood up straight and walked to stand next to Rachel, then. "Now, I understand a lot of you have a lot on with classes and might not be able to go," he announced. "But if you'd like to go, I asked coach Sylvester if we could borrow the Cheerios' bus, just for today and after a lot of prompting, she agreed."

"No, Mr Schue," Finn said, standing up. "Rachel's right, we are a family. We should all be there for Ian."

Mickey looked around the room at the collective nods and then turned and nodded, too.

* * *

No matter how many times Mickey had seen his father display extreme anger and abuse, he still got that flittering feeling all throughout the inside of his body. He felt as if every part of him had gone to mush and his hands shook and his head whirled and he couldn't think straight.

Worrying about Ian Gallagher made him feel the exact same way.

He sat at the back of the bus by himself and scowled, because the last time he had sat at the back of a bus by himself, Ian had come and sat with him. This time, however, Mercedes was coming towards him and the last thing he needed right now was her questioning him about the relationship they had once had.

"You came, too," she said, slipping into the seat next to him. He just nodded. "Because you wanted to get off class?" she asked.

Mickey looked offended, because this was _Ian_ they were talking about, Ian who meant more to him than he cared to admit out loud. "No," he said, finally.

She watched him for what seemed like a long time, but could only have been about thirty seconds. Then she spoke, "You care about him, don't you?"

He felt the urge to deny it, but Mercedes already knew, he could see it in her eyes. He nodded, sighed and looked back at the seat in front of him.

"What happened?" he asked, quietly. "Why was he even driving early this morning?"

Mercedes shrugged. "No idea," she told him. "We'll have to ask him ourselves."

Mickey merely nodded again.

"Can I ask you a question?" He had been waiting for the questions to come, so he shrugged and waited. "If you still care about him and he still cares about you, why did you guys stop?"

"Because I have a girlfriend," Mickey told her, simply, like that was a valid answer.

Of course, Mercedes didn't believe this was a valid answer. "You had a girlfriend when you and Ian slept together, too."

"It's.. It's complicated," he told her, which wasn't a lie. It _was_ complicated.

They stayed silent for a long time and Mickey wished the stupid bus would hurry up because he just needed to see him, see that he was okay, just like Ian had done for him.

"His dad said he's fine, Mickey," Mercedes soothed. "Don't worry."

"I can't help it," he said, before he could stop himself.

"I know," she nodded. "You know what Mickey?"

"What?"

"You're okay," she smiled next to him.

"Yeah," he said, returning her smile. "Yeah, so are you."

* * *

Mickey couldn't go in. He felt like an idiot, but he couldn't go in, at least not with the others. He told them he would wait outside because he wasn't feeling well. Rachel had given him an incredulous look, but no one else had even blinked an eye. Except Mercedes, obviously. Mercedes gave him the sad almost-smile, before heading inside.

Mickey sighed and sat down on the plastic chairs against the wall. All he wanted was to see Ian, but he was afraid, afraid of what he might do. He didn't want to go in there with all of the glee club and Mr Schue and break down.

"Mickey, right?"

Mickey looked up and saw Frank Gallagher, Ian's dad coming towards him.

"Hi," Mickey said, simply.

Frank took a seat across the narrow hall. He was holding a paper coffee cup. He looked up at Mickey and Mickey couldn't get Ian's words out of his head: _My dad figured it all out this morning._ Which meant that Frank Gallagher was well aware of the relationship he had had with Ian.

"You didn't go in with your friends?"

Mickey didn't bother to point out that they didn't really consider him a friend, because that wasn't the main point of the question. The question was why hadn't he gone in to see Ian?

"I.. They don't know," he said, quietly, hoping that was enough.

Much to Mickey's relief, Frank nodded, knowingly. "You and Ian," he said, then. "What's goin' on there?"

"Nothing, not any more," Mickey said, with a sigh. "We—we're just friends."

"Right," Frank nodded, again. "Were you using him?"

Mickey's eyes shot up and fell on Frank. "No," he said, quickly. "No, never. Ian is—Ian's one of the best people I know." _The best._ "I would never do anything to.." He had been going to say he would never do anything to hurt him, but he had already hurt Ian, so that was a lie. "Ian sort of—he means a lot to me," Mickey finished, dropping his gaze to the floor.

Frank seemed to stare at him for a long time. Mickey folded his hands together and stared at the patterns on the tiles. Then Frank spoke, "That bracelet." He pointed at Mickey's hand and reached into his pocket and produced something silver and gleaming. It was the bracelet Mickey had given Ian. "They gave me this when they took him in," Frank went on, looking down at Mickey's wrist. "You've got one, too."

Mickey looked at Frank, who was staring at him, anticipating an explanation. "Um," Mickey stammered. "Ian's birthday.. I, um," he cleared his throat and gestured towards the bracelet in Frank's hand. "And he, um.. It was my birthday a few days ago," he told Frank and pushed his sleeve away to reveal the bracelet. "He, um, gave me that in-in return."

He cursed his awkwardness, but Frank just nodded and then remained silent again.

"You wanna see him?" he asked after a while.

"Oh, I co—"

"I mean when they're gone," Frank clarified. "He doesn't look that awful, just a bit of bruising."

"I.. You wouldn't mind?" Mickey asked, surprised.

"Nah," Frank said and he leaned over and handed Mickey Ian's bracelet. "I think he'd like to see you."

"Yeah," Mickey said, smiling a little. He took the bracelet from Frank and pressed it into the palm of his hand. "Yeah, I'd like to see him, too. Thank you."

* * *

Ian felt as if he had been hit over the head repeatedly with a hammer. His mouth tasted as if he had sucked on old copper pennies like they were breath mints and his ribs hurt like hell. It didn't help that had probably had sex with Kenny, either. He shuddered every time he thought of it.

Now the glee club were there, all except Quinn, Iggy and Mickey. The fact that Mickey wasn't there hurt him a little, but he kept quiet about it. Nobody had probably told him what had happened.

"How are you feeling, Ian?" Mr Schuester asked, softly.

"Um, okay," he said.

"Christ, Gallagher, you look like crap," Santana told him and he glared at her. In a way, he was glad Mickey didn't have to see him like this. He would have died of mortification.

"Ian, what happened?" Finn asked.

"I don't know," he told him. "I just—I don't think I want to talk about it."

"That's perfectly fine, Ian," Rachel said, taking the lead. "We have prepared a little number in your honour. Places people!"

Ian smiled, affectionately and waited for Rachel to start singing.

* * *

After the glee club had completed their rendition of "Keep Holding On", they had left and Ian was alone again. He was still smiling and teary eyed from the performance, because it was possibly the nicest thing anyone had ever done for him in his entire life. No one had ever made him feel like he belonged.

He lay there, staring at the cracked ceiling, his head still pounding and wondered if he would ever get over what had happened with Kenny. Before he had a chance to think further into it, the door opened again and Ian expected to see his dad there, but the person that walked through was not his dad. He was small and dark and looked terrified.

"Mickey," Ian breathed and tried to sit up too quickly, forgetting that his ribs and stomach were horribly bruised. He groaned a little and Mickey rushed forward looking as if he didn't know what to do with his hands. "I'm fine," Ian told him, settling.

Mickey nodded and Ian gestured to the soft chair next to the bed. Mickey sat down gingerly.

"So, um, you're here," Ian said, because he had not been expecting this.

"Yeah," he said. "I couldn't come in with the others. I—your dad said I could wait and see you alone."

Ian was caught between wanting to kill his dad for allowing Mickey to see him while his hair was flat and his face was wan and his eyes had bags under them, and wanting to hug him, because he had sent Mickey in here by himself to see him.

"Ian," Mickey said, sitting forward. "What happened?"

Ian shook his head, but Mickey gave him this look, urging him to tell him, a look that said _you know you can tell me anything,_ so Ian exhaled and started talking.

"I went out with Kenny—"

"You did wha—"

"Mickey," Ian said, over him. "Look, let me talk, okay?" Mickey nodded, but he didn't look all that happy about it. "I was mad at you. I know you have a lot to deal with, but it's almost like you want me, but you took the easy way out and went with Quinn. I get that you have a lot of pressure on you right now, but I just got mad, okay? And then you were telling me not to let him break my heart, when that was really rich coming from you, so I called him back and met up with him at Breadstix."

Ian paused and took a deep breath, because Mickey was not going to like this next bit. He hadn't even told his dad any of this.

"Ian—"

"I'm not done," he said. "So, the next thing I remember is-is waking up n-naked and in a strange room," he told him. "And he was there, beside me and he w-was naked, too and I panicked, because I don't remember _anything_. But I must have slept with him, mustn't I? I just—I wouldn't have, you know? I wouldn't do that. It just—none of it makes sense."

Mickey didn't look angry any more. He was watching him with sad, pitying eyes and Ian hated that, he hated being the victim. He told Mickey as much and Mickey sighed.

"I'm sorry," he said. "Look, we all mess up. I can't stand the guy and he probably took advantage of you while you were trying to deal with—with all this. I'll take responsibility for that and I'm going to have a strongly-worded conversation with him about it."

"You don't think I'm an idiot?"

Mickey shook his head and reached out and grabbed Ian's wrist. Ian watched as he pulled his bracelet from his pocket and looped it around his arm. He fastened the clasp, but didn't let go of his hand.

"We all do something we regret at some time or another," Mickey told him.

Ian pulled his hand out of Mickey's grasp and tried to glare at him, but he just ended up looking stupid because that _hurt._ Mickey furrowed his eyebrows, confusion all over his face, his eyes studying him thoroughly, then he opened his mouth.

"Oh!" he said, as if he had just discovered gold. "Ian, no. No, I didn't mean you. I meant Quinn. God. I didn't mean you, I swear—"

"Okay," Ian said and he reached back across and took Mickey's hand in his own. Mickey ran his thumb across his knuckles and Ian shivered, because that was the effect Mickey had on him. "Look, thanks for being here. You—you're a.. A good, um, friend."

It cut him in two to speak those words, because Mickey would never be his friend. There would always be that tension between them that existed between those who had once had a romantic relationship.

"Actually," Mickey said, tightening his grip on Ian's hand. "I've been thinking and I wanted to talk to you about—"

Mickey was cut off, because the door opened once again. They dropped hands and looked guiltily up at the nurse, as if they had been doing something very wrong.

"Mr Gallagher," the nurse said. "Is your father not here?"

"Um—"

"He went back to the garage to cancel appointments," Mickey added. "He said he'd be back in thirty minutes."

The nurse nodded and looked down at her clipboard, then back to Ian.

"Mr Gallagher, we just got the tests back and there was a fair amount of flunitrazepam in your system, which would explain your memory loss," she informed him. "Are you taking drugs, Ian?"

Ian gaped at her and Mickey did, too.

"What? No," Ian shook his head, his heart thumping far too quickly. "I—No, never. I would never touch drugs," he told her.

She, however, did not look convinced. "Hmm, okay," she said, sceptically. "I'll have to inform your father."

Ian nodded and watched her go, then looked up at Mickey, but Mickey had already stood up, his face twisted angrily.

"What are yo—"

"I'm going to kill him," Mickey told him. "Why is this not getting into your head? He drugged you and then he.. I'm going to fucking kill him."

"Mickey, calm down, we don't know that he—"

"Yes, we do!" Mickey said, voice raised. "Look, you've got to stop thinking everyone is just going to be nice, okay? You trusted me and look how that turned out! Now he... I—come here," Mickey said and he bent and kissed him, quickly, then pulled away. "I'll be back afterwards, I promise."

"Mickey, don't—"

"I have to," he said. "You don't get it, _I have to do this_. He needs to pay for what he's done. God, Ian. You need to tell your dad, too, okay and then the police and—"

"The police?" Ian exclaimed. "Mickey, we could have this all wrong," he objected, but he didn't even believe that himself. He knew Mickey was right, but he didn't want him to go and get in trouble for this, he didn't want people to think he was a victim, he didn't want to tell his dad that he may have been raped. He shook his head, because he didn't want to think about that.

"I'm paying every day for what I've done to you," Mickey told him in a hushed tone. "You might not think I am, but every day, I hurt like you wouldn't believe. I didn't think anyone could do anything to hurt you worse than I did, but now he—Ian, I have to go over there, okay? Just.. I'll be back, okay? I'll be back."

Ian opened his mouth to speak, but no words came. It didn't matter either way, Mickey had already gone.

* * *

Iggy opened the door and Mickey walked quickly past him.

"Where is he?" he demanded and Iggy stared at him like he had three heads.

"Where's who? Milkovich, what are y—"

"Kenny," Mickey clarified. "Where is your asshole cousin?"

Iggy said nothing just gestured upstairs and Mickey headed straight up, his heart hammering in his chest. He pushed open the door to the bedroom that Kenny had always stayed in when he came over during the summer and inside, Kenny was sitting on the edge of the bed watching TV.

Mickey sprinted across the room and dragged Kenny up by the front of his shirt. Kenny was asking him what the hell he was doing, but he didn't care, he simply swung his arm back and punched him in the jaw. His blood was boiling, he couldn't remember the last time he had been this mad.

"What the fuck, Milkovich?" Kenny spat and Mickey pushed him up against the wall.

"Is that how you get everyone to sleep with you, Kenny?" Mickey snarled. "You drug them and then you get to do whatever you want with them?"

"I never did—"

"Oh, but you did," Mickey intimated. "Because I have just come from the hospital and the test results revealed that Ian Gallagher has fucking Rohypnol soaring through his veins."

"Hospita—"

"You knew," Mickey told him, angrily. He pushed him harder against the wall and Kenny whined. "You fucking let him get in his car knowing he had that crap in his system. You let him drive away while he wasn't in his right mind. God, you're lucky he got out of this physically unscathed, or _you_ would find yourself in a hospital bed."

"I didn't touch him," Kenny protested and Mickey pushed him back. "Dude, I swear, I didn't touch him."

"Then why would you drug him, you asshole?" Mickey laughed, cruelly. "You just thought you'd drug him and take him back to your room, strip him bare and just put him in your bed? Because, frankly, Kenny, I'm not seeing the sense here."

"Yes."

"What?"

"Yes, that's what I did," Kenny told him, his dark eyes filled with worry. "Look, I just—yeah, I wanted to sleep with him, but I wouldn't—I mean, I would never _rape_ him."

Mickey gave him a bewildered look.

"I just figured if he thought he had slept with me once, he'd do it again, you know?"

Mickey stared at him. He was telling the truth.

"Oh my God," Mickey said. "Oh, God, you're serious? What the fuck? Iggy is the smartest member of your family, holy shit."

"Can you let me go?"

Mickey looked up at him. "No," he said. "No, I can't, because you still drugged him. You still drugged him and he still crashed into a tree and his ribs are still bruised and his wrist is still sprained and his fucking head is still fucking spinning, so, no, I can't let you go. The only time I will be letting you go is when the cops come in here to cuff you."

* * *

"Oh, thank God," Ian said, breathing a sigh of relief after Mickey had told him the truth. "You're sure?"

"I'm sure," Mickey smiled. "He was definitely telling the truth."

"I should tell my da—"

"I told him before I came in here," Mickey said. "He was still beyond angry, which is understandable, but he knows."

Ian smiled and watched as Mickey took his hand again. He thought about pulling away, because he was going to have to go back to Quinn and the football team and all of that, but he just wanted to have this one moment, just for a little while, so he didn't let go.

"So, um, when do you get out of this place?" Mickey enquired.

"They said in the morning, they want to keep me in overnight, just for precaution," Ian rolled his eyes and Mickey smiled. Then his smile faded.

"I was so scared when I heard this had happened to you," he told Ian, quietly, his golden-brown eyes locked with Ian's sky blue ones. "All I wanted to do was fix it. I—I'm just so glad you're okay."

Ian felt his stomach filling with butterflies and he smiled across at Mickey. "Didn't know you cared," he teased.

"Are you kidding me?" Mickey asked, eyes widening. "Really? You don't think I care?"

Ian shrugged a bit. "I don't know," he told him. "I never really know what you're thinking in that head of yours."

"Usually about you," Mickey uttered, a little bashfully.

Ian simply stared at him, wondering if he meant it. He looked like he meant it, his eyes were still level with Ian's and he was still tracing invisible designs across Ian's hand with his fingers.

"Um," Ian spoke up, then. "Earlier, before the nurse came in, you said you wanted to talk to me about something. What was it?"

Mickey nodded, quickly. "Oh," he said. "Oh, yeah. I—tomorrow! Can I talk to you tomorrow? You know, once you're out of here?"

Ian nodded and wondered what he wanted to talk about that required them being some place else. "Sure," he said. "Whatever you want."

"Think you're strong enough to come over to my place?" Mickey asked. "I'll pick you up and take you home and you'll be totally safe, I promise."

Ian chuckled and his ribs ached, feeling as if someone was prodding at them with a cricket bat. He tried to remain calm about it, but it really hurt and he closed his eyes tight for a second.

"Are you—"

"I'm fine," Ian said, looking back at Mickey, who was half way out of his chair. "I'm fine, sit down." Mickey sat, but he didn't look any less concerned. "Yes, I'll come over to yours tomorrow," Ian told him and Mickey nodded.

"Okay," he smiled, slightly. "Okay, it's a date."

* * *

Mickey stopped his car outside Ian's house the next day and walked up the driveway and knocked on the door. He figured Ian would need some help getting around, because he was badly bruised and in a lot of pain. Frank opened the door and gave him a smile.

"Nice to see you again, Mickey," he greeted him, standing back and allowing him space to walk inside.

He closed the door and shouted to Ian that Mickey was here.

"That Kenny kid," Frank said. "They put him on probation."

"Is that all?" Mickey asked, feeling his blood running faster in his veins.

"Yep," Frank said. "He's still a minor, so there isn't a lot they can do."

"Still, it's not fair," Mickey sighed.

"I know," Frank agreed,

"Stop complaining and open the door for me."

Mickey looked across the room at Ian, standing there clutching his stomach, his face twisted painfully. Mickey smiled, because he looked like himself again. he was wearing the sequined vest and the tight pants and the intricately designed boots and his hair was coiffed and styled the way he always had it.

Mickey opened the front door and watched as Ian walked slowly towards it, a scowl on his pale face.

"Call me if you need me, okay, Ian?" Frank said, walking towards the door.

"I'll be fine, dad," Ian sighed and stepped outside. Mickey followed him and they said goodbye to his dad.

"You okay?" Mickey asked.

"I'm fine," Ian said. "Just get me out of here. I know he means well, but if I get offered another can of soda or a sandwich, I might be forced to pull my hair out."

"Oh, we wouldn't want that," Mickey chuckled and opened the passenger door of his car.

"This must be very important if you're making a cripple leave his warm bed to go to your house," Ian said, once inside. Mickey closed the door and went around the other side. He got in, too and fastened his belt. Ian was muttering obscenities under his breath as he clipped his own belt in.

"Are you done complaining?" Mickey asked in amusement.

"Not by a long shot, let's go."

* * *

"I'm leaving her."

Ian stared at Mickey, unsure of what to say.

"I said I'm leaving her," Mickey repeated.

"Yeah, I got that," Ian nodded." Can you clarify who you mean by 'her' and what you mean by 'leaving'? Because I kind of can't believe my ears."

"I," Mickey said, clearly. "Am breaking up with Quinn."


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21:**

"No," Ian said, with a shake of his head. "No, you're not."

Mickey stared at him for a couple of heartbeats, his lips parted. "Um," he uttered. "Yes, I am."

Mickey watched as Ian shook his head again. He was taking deeper breaths and looking around the room as if he had no idea where he was.

"Why?"

"Why? Why what?"

"Why the sudden change? Why now?" Ian clarified. "Why are you telling me?"

"Um, I thought about what you said, about her being pregnant not meaning we had to stay together forever. I can't be with her," Mickey informed him. "And as for why I'm telling you, I thought you would want to know."

"Be-because we're friends?" Ian offered.

Mickey shook his head. He was bad at expressing his feelings, he hadn't done it much throughout his life. He cleared his throat and sat up straight, then looked Ian right in those azure eyes.

"I don't want to be your friend, Ian," Mickey told him. "And I know I've been an idiot and I've made terrible decisions and I haven't been sure about what I was doing, or where I'm going, but I've been completely sure about one thing throughout this whole thing," he said.

"What?" Ian asked and his voice came out timidly.

Mickey took a deep breath, then exhaled for a long time. His heart was racing and he felt like he might fall over, but he had to do this.

"You," he uttered and his voice came out uneven and a little broken. "You and how I feel about you. In the beginning, I was scared, because I had never felt like this about anyone—not about Quinn, or anyone else. So, yeah, I was scared, probably more scared than I've ever been, so I shoved it away—or I _tried_ to shove it away. I didn't want to feel what I was feeling, because that's not who I'm supposed to be," he paused, then corrected himself. "That's not who _they_ think I'm supposed to be, I mean. But I'm done pushing my feelings away. I can't go on being with her when you're all I think about."

Ian was staring at him, blue eyes wide and glistening. Mickey watched as he parted his lips to form words, but none came, he simply let out a shaky breath. His lips were that pale, fleshy pink nearest the inside of his mouth, but every other part of them were a vibrant shade of rose, as if he had bitten them repeatedly.

Mickey didn't stop himself when he leaned across to place a gentle kiss on those gasped a little as Mickey's mouth closed down over his and then he was kissing him with more passion and Mickey felt what he always felt when he was close to Ian; He felt some kind of blue electricity soaring through his veins and he knew this was right, that everything about Ian was right.

Mickey pressed the palm of his hand down on Ian's shoulder and pushed him gently backwards, but Ian winced and pulled away.

"Oh, God, I'm sorry," Mickey breathed. "I—I forgot. Shit. Are you okay?"

Ian was clutching his stomach, his eyes closed. "Yeah," he choked out. "It's not your fault, don't worry."

Mickey cursed himself. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt Ian again. He was about to apologise, but Ian began talking.

"So, you're really leaving her?" he asked, letting go of his stomach. "I mean, have you thought this through?"

Oh, he had thought it through all right, it was all he could think about. Quinn meant nothing to him, it was sad, but true. He could not envision a life with her, he couldn't even envision another week with her. Hell, he didn't care, he'd visit the baby, still be its dad, but that didn't mean he had to be with Quinn.

"Definitely," he confirmed. "Does it make me a bad person if I dump her?"

Ian shook his head and straightened his back a little. "No," he told him. "It just means you're finally coming into yourself. Told you you'd get there," Ian grinned, but Mickey could still tell he was in pain.

Mickey sighed and fell back on the bed. "Still a long way to go," he muttered.

"Yeah," Ian said, looking down at him with those incredible eyes. "But this is a huge step, so I have faith in you."

"Thanks," he murmured. He didn't even have faith in himself. He sat up, then and a couple of minutes of silence passed.

Ian spoke first, "So, uh, what do you want to do?"

Mickey shrugged and said the first thing he could think of. "Wanna watch some TV?"

Ian smiled, all-teeth and nodded. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah, okay. What's the last thing you watched?"

Mickey felt his cheeks tinting red and dropped his gaze from Ian's blue eyes. "You'll laugh," he said.

"No, I won't!" Ian protested. Then he was reaching for the remote control and Mickey tried to grab it, but Ian held it close to him. "I'm badly bruised, remember? Tackle me for this and I might break."

Mickey glared at him, but he was smiling. "Fine," he said, moving back to sit with his back against the headboard. "There goes any chance of you ever taking me seriously again."

"What makes you think I ever took you seriously?" Ian quipped, before moving to sit next to Mickey.

It took him a little while and Mickey offered to help, but he declined, said he could do it by himself, so Mickey let him. Finally, he sat up next to him and pointed the remote towards Mickey's widescreen. The screen came to life and Ian pressed the play button and the last episode of Pokémon that Mickey had been watching started to play.

Ian turned to look at him.

"Go ahead, laugh," Mickey urged.

"You," Ian said, smiling, but not laughing. "Are full of surprises."

"I told you that on day one, remember?" Mickey reminded him. "Anyway, you can put whatever you want on, I'm easy."

"That so?" Ian teased and Mickey blushed. "Let's watch this," Ian said, hitting the volume button and the Pokémon theme song got louder.

"We don't have to."

"No, let's. I haven't seen this in forever," Ian said, sitting back with a smile.

Mickey smiled at him and sat back, too, their arms brushing a little. It was hard for Mickey to concentrate on the show with Ian so close by. He could feel his body heat and he had to stop himself from reaching across for his hand, because he didn't want to make it awkward.

Ian would say something about the show every few minutes and Mickey would laugh and agree, but he didn't really know what was going on. It occurred to him then that they had never really done anything like this. Most of their time together had consisted of Mickey complaining and whining about his not-so-perfect life and then sex. This was nice, different, he just wished he wasn't feeling as nervous as he was.

A few minutes later, Ian's hand was over his. He glanced sideways, but Ian was staring straight ahead at the TV. Mickey looked down at their hands and hoped he couldn't feel the small shakes that were erupting through his body.

He wondered briefly what would happen if his dad came home and walked in to find them like this. It couldn't go well. He frowned, then, because thinking about his dad always made him frown. He couldn't help thinking about how his dad would react once he found out he had broken up with Quinn. And there was also the baby issue..

"What's wrong?" Ian asked, knocking him out of his reverie.

Mickey looked up. "Um, nothing," he emitted. "I—nothing. It's cool."

Ian looked less than convinced. His gaze lingered on Mickey for what seemed like a long time, then looked back at the TV. He kept glancing sideways at him, so Mickey tried to look ensconsed in the show.

He lost his composure about five minutes later, because his mind began to drift. He knew there was no way he was going to change his mind about leaving Quinn. He was definitely going to do this. He just wished there weren't consequences, which, again, made him a coward, but he couldn't help it. He was afraid and anxious and he felt like doing something that required a lot of energy, like running, or something, because he had a lot of building tension that he needed to get rid of.

Mickey came back down to earth when he felt a light pressure against the back of his hand. He turned to look at Ian with a quizzical expression.

"You were shaking," Ian apprised him.

"Oh," Mickey said, bewilderment laced in his voice.

"Are you sure you're all right?" Ian enquired and Mickey gave him a nod and a smile.

Within minutes, they were watching the TV in silence again and Ian's fingers were stroking Mickey's hand, sending little volts all along his skin. He swallowed hard and remembered how it had felt to have Ian's fingers on other more intimate areas of his body. He groaned silently, because getting horny now would be a travesty. Ian had been through a lot and they weren't even doing that any more.

Still, he couldn't help remembering the last time they had been together in an intimate way. He remembered how Ian's touch had been so gentle that it made him feel like doing something crazy, because this boy could not be real. He thought about how he had stroked his hair afterwards, how he had smiled down at him, his smile visible in those shining eyes. He remembered how he had made love to him and how his heart had felt beating against his chest and how he had moaned into his mouth and how he had held him and made him feel like he was wanted for more than just his status.

Mickey felt his heart go still for a split second and his body went rigid. Then he was shaking and his stomach was turning and his jaw went slack. He didn't notice Ian muting the TV and turning to look at him with concern in those cyan eyes. He didn't hear him asking if he was okay, because it had finally hit him. He'd already known, of course, but he couldn't ever bring himself to say it, or even give it deep thought, but now..

He felt it then, the warm, slow stream of tears slipping from the corners of his eyes and running down his cheeks and he did nothing to stop them. This was the first time he had cried since he was about fourteen and he felt his heart beat speeding up as he remembered he wasn't supposed to cry. However, there was nothing he could do to stop it now, plus, it felt sort of good to finally let it all out.

Nevertheless, there was still something heavy pressing down on his shoulders and he needed to get rid of that.

* * *

Ian didn't know what to do. He thought about putting his arms around him, but he was scared that would make things worse.

"Mickey," he said, softly, as Mickey broke into large sobs. "Mickey, shh. What? What is it?"

"I—I just.." he trailed off and buried his head in his hands.

"Okay," Ian said, placing a hand on his back and rubbing small circles over it. "Okay, calm down. Tell me what's wrong."

Mickey looked up at him, through his bright, glistening eyes, tears still spilling from them. Ian remembered what Mickey had said to him when he had cried in front of him. _You're one of those people who look really, really pretty when they cry._ He hadn't really understood it at first, but now he knew, because despite the sniffling and the tear stained face, Mickey looked beautiful. When he cried, his eyes turned this almost jade green, but somehow, Ian could still see shades of orange and brown and maybe even red. His eyes were red-rimmed and his chest was convulsing a little and his lips were swelled and a brighter red than Ian had ever seen them.

"I'm gay, Ian," Mickey choked out, voice breaking. "I—I'm gay."

Ian felt his own heart speeding up at that and he nodded.

"I know," he said and he moved closer, ignoring the stabbing pain in his stomach. "I know you are," he whispered and then Mickey was moving towards him and sobbing into the crook of his neck, his arms going gently around him.

It took Ian a few minutes to get used to the pressure against his ribs and then he simply wrapped Mickey up in his arms and stroked his hair back from where it had stuck to his forehead.

"Shh," Ian said, softly. "It's okay, it'll be okay."

"I'm gay," Mickey wept into Ian's neck. "I'm gay."

"I know," Ian told him again. "I know and everything will be okay, I promise."

* * *

Mickey had no idea how one moment he had been slobbering into Ian's neck (which smelled really good, by the way), and then the next, he was placing hungry kisses along his jaw until he reached his mouth. He was so scared hurting him, but he just wanted to be close to him.

Fortunately, Ian began tugging Mickey forward and then Ian was flat on his back and Mickey was trying to kiss him without hurting him, but Ian pulled him so that he was on top of him. Mickey saw him flinch a little and he attempted to pull back, but Ian wouldn't let him go.

"I'm okay," he assured him, kissing him once. "If we're just laying like this, I'll be okay."

Mickey wasn't convinced, but Ian pulled him forward again and slipped his tongue through Mickey's teeth. Mickey allowed himself to get deeper into the kiss and then Ian was slipping a knee between his legs and Mickey was moaning into his mouth.

"Ungh," Mickey pulled back a little. "I don't—I don't want to hurt you."

Ian reached up and placed a warm hand on Mickey's cheek. "I'm okay," Ian ensured him. "Honestly, I'm okay."

"It's just that I—"

He stopped talking because Ian's mouth had caught his again and this time he sighed into the kiss, because Ian really did seem okay. He tried not to make too many movements, which was difficult when Ian's was slipping his knee back and forth between Mickey's thighs. Mickey felt Ian's warm finger tips on the patch of skin on his lower back where his shirt had slid up.

"I don't thi—"

"Mickey," Ian whispered against his lips and Mickey's whole body shivered. "It's okay."

Mickey didn't have a chance to protest, because Ian's hands were trailing lower and pressing against his ass. He didn't have it in him to put a stop to it now. Mickey rucked Ian's shirt up around his waist, along with the vest and eased them gently over his head. He stopped still, then and sat back a little.

"Ian," he breathed looking down at the other boy's torso. It was covered in large purplish-red bruises and they stood out even more because of his milky-white skin.

"It looks bad, I know," Ian told him, his hands resting on Mickey's hips. "But it doesn't hurt as much as you'd think."

Mickey couldn't bear it if he hurt him again. He began climbing off of Ian. "Maybe we should st—"

"Mickey," Ian groaned a little. "I don't want to stop."

Mickey stopped moving and looked down at him, his eyes dilated and filled with something Mickey could not place. "Are you sure?"

"More than sure," Ian nodded and he slipped the top button on Mickey's jeans through the little loop.

"Okay," Mickey uttered and eased himself back down, gently, on top of Ian.

Ian sucked Mickey's bottom lip into his mouth, as he unzipped him and pushed his jeans as far down as he could from the angle he was in. Then he was sliding Mickey's shirt upwards and Mickey lifted his arms to help him. Soon, Mickey had removed Ian's pants (after a bit of a struggle—they were just _so tight_ ) and Ian was palming Mickey's erection through the thin material of his briefs.

"Ian," Mickey almost hissed. "Ian, how do we.. I don't want to hurt you, I—"

"It'll be okay," Ian whispered against his lips again.

He kissed him and Mickey felt Ian's hands slipping down past the waistband of his underwear and then this fingers were rubbing circles over his ass. Mickey moaned a little when Ian's hands disappeared to push away the briefs. He arched himself up a little to allow him space and then he kicked them off and he was completely naked.

Mickey kissed Ian once more before sliding down Ian's body. He hooked his fingers into the elasticated band at the top and peeled them off revealing his hard cock. Mickey took it in his hands and Ian tried to sit up a little.

"You don't have to move," Mickey said, kissing the inside of Ian's thigh. "Just relax, okay?"

Ian muttered something, but Mickey didn't hear him, he simply lowered his mouth down over Ian's erection and sucked it once. He heard Ian let out a moany gasp. Mickey licked a wet line all along the underside of Ian's cock and then sucked the head into his mouth and Ian was making those sounds again and God, he was gorgeous.

Mickey licked down the side very slowly, sending small whining sounds out of Ian's mouth. Then he lowered his mouth down and stretched his lips around it and sucked on it for a while. Ian's ankles were thrashing a little and Mickey had to place a hand on either of them to keep him from knocking his teeth out.

"Oh, God, Mickey," Ian said, voice raspy.

Mickey pulled his mouth off and Ian moaned at the loss. Mickey raised Ian's hips a little with his hands, carefully, as not to hurt him, then he pulled his legs a little further apart to reveal his opening. Mickey had wanted to do this for the longest time. He took a deep breath, then lowered his lips down to the tight hole and ran his tongue over it once, an experimental taste.

It was strange, not bad, just strange, because he had his tongue on someone else asshole. He did it again and pulled back and Ian was groaning every time he stopped. So, finally, he lowered his mouth back down and kept it there, flicking his tongue over it and then pushing the tip as far through as he could get it.

"Fuck," Ian gasped out.

Mickey removed his mouth and instead, pushed the tip of his finger over Ian's now wet hole. He worked it in, past the first ring of muscle and Ian was wincing a little, because he wasn't nearly stretched open enough. Mickey used his mouth again, then repeated the action with his finger and after a while he was moving three fingers in and out freely and Ian was pushing himself down over them, even though Mickey had told him not to move. He didn't want him to hurt himself.

"Ian, I just don't want to hurt you," he told him, moving up so that he could see his face.

"You won't," Ian said and he pushed himself up into a seated position. Mickey saw him grimace at the pain, but he didn't stay like that for long. He flipped himself over onto his stomach and arched his back so that his ass was a little higher than the rest of him.

"You sure?" Mickey asked, inching himself closer, his erection throbbing at the sight of Ian spread out like that.

"Yeah, come on, I'm fine," Ian said, his head in the pillows.

"Don't make any sudden moves, okay?" he said. "And for God's sake, don't lean on the sprained wrist."

"Fine," Ian sighed, but Mickey could hear him smiling.

Mickey moved closer and wet his hand a little, before rubbing it on his cock a couple of times. He pressed the head of his hard-on to Ian's stretched entrance and then pushed himself slowly inside. Ian groaned into the pillows and Mickey stopped still.

"I'm fine! Keep going!" Ian demanded, voice muffled.

Mickey wasn't sure, but he pushed forward anyway and then stopped when Ian cried out again. He saw Ian's head tilting around to give him a disapproving look. Mickey pushed in the rest of the way and then stopped again to give them both time to get used to the tightness.

"Ready," Ian told him after a while.

Mickey grabbed onto Ian's hips and pulled his own hips back a little. He groaned a little at the sensation, then pushed himself back in, quickly.

"God," Ian muttered.

Mickey repeated that a few times and then Ian was telling him to go faster.

"Stop acting like I'm going to break," he choked out.

Mickey apologised and started to push in and out of him faster, his body clammy with sweat and heat and then Ian was trying to lift his hips and Mickey could tell it was hurting him, so he pushed them back down, gently and Ian moaned a little and Mickey just wanted to listen to him making that sound over and over again.

"Close," Mickey muttered, because he wanted to give Ian a heads up. Ian didn't reply, just made some kind of sound that Mickey couldn't have put a name to.

Mickey felt the familiar tightening in his stomach and began pumping himself in and out harder and faster and Ian's body was shaking with his movements and Mickey just didn't want to hurt him. He tried to make it happen quickly, so that it would be over and Ian wouldn't have to endure the pain. It wasn't long before he was coming inside him and Ian was _whimpering_ and Mickey was crying out and he rode out the orgasm.

He pulled himself out and turned Ian gently. Ian's eyes were closed and his chest was rising and falling quickly and he was still sporting an erection. Mickey reached down and pumped his hand back and forth on Ian's cock and Ian was making little 'mm' sounds and soon, he was coming, too, his come covering Mickey's hand and his own chest. Mickey fell down next to him and they stayed like that, just breathing for a long time.

"Are—are you okay?" Mickey managed.

Ian sighed, with exasperation and he eased himself over so that he could kiss Mickey again. "I'm fine," he said, once he had pulled back. "I'm covered in—well. I feel disgusting, but I'm fine."

Mickey chuckled and kissed him again, because he could do that now that he going to finish with Quinn.

"What about you?" Ian asked, then. "Are you okay? I mean, after you kind of came out to me, to yourself?"

"I actually feel so much better," Mickey told him, truthfully. It felt as if a weight had been lifted. He still had a lot going on, but that had helped.

"Good," Ian grinned and then he yawned. "Think i could just stay here tonight?"

"Up to you," Mickey told him.

"I'll go if you want me to—"

"I didn't mean that," Mickey told him. "I just meant—yeah. Yeah, stay. I want you to."

"Sure?"

"Yes," Mickey told him. "I've missed kissing you, talking to you, all that."

"Me, too," Ian smiled, his eyes half-lidded. "I'll call my dad and tell him I'm staying, okay?"

"Okay, I'll go get a towel, or something," Mickey said, pushing himself up off the bed. He threw Ian's phone to him. "You don't even have to move."

Ian snorted. "I leave my own house because I'm getting treated like a dying man and then I come here and you don't let me move."

"Moving," Mickey informed him with a smirk. "Is overrated."

Ian laughed and then clutched his ribs. "You weren't saying that ten minutes ago when you were moving above me."

"You've got a filthy mouth, Ian Gallagher," Mickey quipped back.

"It has its uses," Ian told him as he started dialling his dad's number.

Mickey went into the bathroom and cleaned himself off, then walked back outside and threw a towel at Ian.

"What'd you tell him?"

"That I had sex with you and now I'm exhausted," Ian said, taking the towel and grimacing down at his chest.

Mickey stared at him open-mouthed.

"Oh, relax," Ian said. "I told him we were watching a movie and it won't end until later, so I'm just going to stay. He was fine. Which side do you sleep on?"

Mickey went and took the towel from him. "Um, you can sleep whichever side you want."

"I know, but I'm just curious," Ian informed him.

"Um, the right," Mickey provided.

"Okay," Ian said and he climbed carefully into the bed and lay down on the right hand side. Mickey gave him a bewildered expression. "Are you going to stand there all night?"

Mickey shook his head, then went and switched off the light and the TV, then he went and climbed in next to Ian. Ian eased himself onto his side so that they faced one another.

"When are you going to do it?" Ian asked and Mickey knew what he meant.

"Tomorrow," he said. "I'll talk to her after school."

"And you're sure?" Mickey gave him a look. "Okay, so you're sure," Ian nodded in the light of the moon. "What about us?"

Mickey sighed, because he didn't know. He reached across and grabbed Ian's hand. "Do you remember the day Quinn told me she was pregnant and we had that really angry, emotional sex?"

Ian spluttered. "Quite vividly, actually."

Mickey nodded. "Do you remember before that I told you I love you?"

Ian made no jokes this time, he simply nodded, smile fading.

"I meant it," Mickey informed him. "I do, I love you."

"Okay," Ian said, slowly.

"And I'm going to ask you this because I'm still an idiot," Mickey began. "First of all, do you want to be with me?"

Ian didn't miss a beat. "Yes."

"Okay," Mickey nodded, relief flooding his body. "Okay, good. Look, I'm still afraid, I don't know when I'll ever not be afraid. I don't know if I can face up to everyone and everything and my dad and all that. I don't know how to handle all that, I'm confused and scared and a bunch of other stupid things. So, I'm just going to ask you. Would you be willing to be with me without telling anyone else—"

"Mickey—"

"I'm not done," Mickey said, softly. "If you're not, okay. I'll do it. I'll come out, I'll tell everyone, because I want you, I do. I just—I know it'll be hard. I—it's not fair of me to ask you to do this. No. I'll just come out, screw it."

Ian was quiet for a minute, then spoke. "Don't come out if you're not ready," he said. "I don't want you to come out just because of me."

"It's not right unless I do, Ian."

"You're not ready," Ian told him. "I can tell. I've been there, remember? I get it. And I know what your dad is like, so just.. Just don't. At least not now. Wait until you're ready, wait until the time is right for you. I'll still be here."

"Ian, I don—"

"I refuse to be with you if you come out," Ian said, firmly. "I'm not going to be the thing to force you out when you're not ready, so it's either in secret, or it's nothing."

"Why?"

Ian sighed and inched closer. Mickey could feel his breath on his skin. "You broke down and cried when you told me. Mickey, you've only just come to terms with this yourself. You're not ready, I know you're not, you don't have to pretend with me, remember?"

Mickey nodded a little. He was right, but he didn't want him to commit to this with him if he wanted a full-on, public relationship.

"I'm fine with us just being like this," Ian smiled. "More than fine, actually."

"Ian, is there—"

"Please," Ian said. "I'm asking you not to do this. I don't want to be the reason you felt like you had to come out because of. I don't want you to wind up hating me when you have to deal with all the crap. So, please, just wait a while. Until you're ready."

"I could never hate you," Mickey whispered.

"Let's not find out, okay?" Ian said, pressing a hand to Mickey's chest, just above his heart. "I thought you said you missed kissing me."

"I do."

"Then quit talking and kiss me."

"I said I missed talking to you, too," Mickey pointed out and Ian sighed and then he kissed him and Mickey didn't protest, he just went ahead and kissed him back.

He promised himself then, that some day, he would be brave enough to kiss him in public.


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22:**

Something pressed down over his body and a dull pain shot across his ribs and he woke with a start and a small groan. He felt the mattress shifting beneath him and the covers shuffled next to him and then a shadow was looming over him and he blinked his eyes open.

"I'm sorry," a shaky voice said. "Damn. Are you okay?"

Ian looked up at Mickey's concerned expression and smiled a little. "I'm fine," he told him. "You just surprised me, that's all."

Mickey nodded and his dark curls bobbed a bit. He settled back down and fell onto his side. He propped himself up on one elbow and looked down at Ian, face still a mask of worry. Ian lay there breathing as the pain decreased across his stomach.

"Can I..?" Mickey gestured towards Ian's stomach and Ian gave him a confused look, unsure of what he was asking, then he nodded, mostly because he was curious.

Ian watched as Mickey reached up and gently tugged the covers down, until his entire upper body was on show. Ian shivered, even though it wasn't cold. It was just that Mickey was blinking those long, dark lashes, as his copper gaze roved over his pale chest and all Ian could do was stare back at him, trying to read what he was thinking.

"Don't.." Ian gasped, quietly, when Mickey's right hand raised up and moved towards him.

"I wouldn't hurt you," Mickey told him, softly. "At least, not intentionally."

Ian frowned, because Mickey was still beating himself up over everything that had occurred between them. He wanted to tell him it was okay, that he should forget about it, and he almost did, but he stopped himself, because what had happened wasn't okay and he shouldn't forget about it, at least not just yet. Mickey needed to remind himself of who he was and who he had once been and those memories were what would show him who he wasn't supposed to be.

Mickey's cool finger tips brushed slowly across Ian's ribs and Ian held his breath. He was docile, gentle, his fingers tracing over the ugly, pinkish-purplish, blotchy bruises. Ian let out his breath with a quiet whimper when Mickey's fingers moved over his nipple and Mickey whispered a low 'sorry'. Ian wanted to tell him not to apologise, that it hadn't been a bad whimper, but he didn't say anything, because he wasn't sure Mickey was apologising for just that.

Ian blinked up at Mickey, who still had his eyes locked on Ian's blemished torso. He had moved his hand and it was now lightly stroking Ian's upper arm. Ian shivered and felt goose bumps raising on his arms. He hoped Mickey would just think it was as a result of the cool air.

"I just want to take your pain away," Mickey told him, eyes finding Ian's.

"Oh, I'll be okay," Ian told him with a small smile.

"I know, you will," Mickey said. "But I wish we could go back, make sure none of the hurt ever happened."

Ian eyed him for a minute. "Are we still talking about the bruising?" Mickey shrugged one shoulder, the right one, and sighed, tiredly. Ian changed the subject then, because Mickey looked pained, his eyes sad. "So, today is the day."

Mickey nodded. "Yep," he affirmed. "I just want it over and done with."

"Think she'll cry?"

"No," Mickey chuckled. "No, she might hit me, though."

Ian laughed then and it hurt, really hurt. He realised then that his entire body was aching, particularly his ass, because of obvious reasons. He grabbed his stomach and made a noise that sounded like an animal in pain and Mickey sat up a little, looking worried.

"Relax," Ian choked out. "It's okay, it's just—If we're going to do this, you need to do me a favour."

"Anything," Mickey supplied.

"Buy a God damned bottle of lube."

* * *

Mickey's body covered one side of Ian's body and he didn't seem to be in a lot of pain any more. Mickey kissed him, slowly and carefully, because he didn't want to hurt him any more than he already had. His bruises looked severe and angry and made Mickey want to hurt Kenny some more. Then he forgot about Kenny, because Ian's tongue was slipping through his teeth and his hands were tracing patterns across his back.

"Hmmph."

"What?" Mickey breathed into Ian's mouth. "Did I—did I hurt you?"

"No," Ian said, flicking his tongue over his top lip. Mickey shuddered. "It's just—we should probably go."

"We should," Mickey smiled and pressed his mouth down over Ian's again. Ian sighed against his lips, giving in.

They stayed like that, just exploring each other's mouths, until a creaking noise sounded behind Mickey. He rolled sideways and Ian thrashed about a little and in a frantic shuffle, the covers landed over his face and he groaned after having moved too quickly. Mickey's heart was thumping loudly as he looked towards the door, ready to see his mom there.

Except his mom was not the person standing there.

"Oh my God," Quinn shouted. " _You're_ _cheating on me_?"

Mickey opened his mouth to speak, but Quinn had moved closer and then she was tugging the covers off of the bed.

"You're cheating on me _with a boy_?" she exclaimed, as Ian moved to cover his now exposed lower half. Ian made a little hissing sound because he had bent his upper body before he could stop himself.

"Jesus, Qui—"

"Oh my God!" she shrieked. "You're cheating on me with a boy _from glee club_?"

Mickey raised an eyebrow, because apparently, Quinn still didn't know Ian's name. She pulled the covers all the way off and Ian's body jerked and he closed his eyes in pain.

"Quinn, what the fuck?" Mickey said, pushing himself up onto his knees. He grabbed the cover back and covered himself, then threw one side across Ian's legs, covering him, too. "Will you stop that? It's not like he's not already bruised all over—"

"Holy shit!" Quinn exhaled, dark green eyes wide and locked on Ian's chest. "What is this? Are you guys into really rough, painful sex, or something? Oh my God, Mickey—"

"Quinn," Mickey said, firmly. "No, no. He got in a car accident, remember?"

She gave him a blank stare that lasted for about ten seconds, then her eyes widened again. "I cannot believe you're doing this to me! You're having sex with a _guy_ , Mickey! That's disgusting! I can't—I can't even look at you right now, oh my God."

Ian was still doubled over and Mickey looked at him. "Are you—"

"Fine, just fine," he panted.

Mickey wasn't convinced, but he didn't get a chance to ask about it, because Quinn was flinging things across the room. He stared at her for a minute and then Ian looked up.

"Um, Quinn," Ian said, then. "I don't like you, but, um, you're pregnant, so I think you should probably, like, not do, um, that."

"Yes!" Quinn shrieked. "I'm pregnant! And you're sleeping with my baby's father, you fag—"

"Quinn!" Mickey said and he stood up and shuffled into his underwear. "Quinn, just—stop, okay? Stop and just—just leave."

Quinn stopped flinging things and looked at Mickey, her eyes livid. She pointed a manicured finger nail at him and said, "I can't believe you would do this to me! You're having sex with a boy!" Mickey wondered if she thought he was not aware of Ian's gender. "So, how long, Mickey? How long have you been _fucking a boy_? Is this why we haven't had sex in seven months, Mickey? Because you'd rather have a di—"

"Quinn," Mickey said, tiredly.

She stared at him for a second, then gave Ian a dirty look, before turning around and walking out, slamming the door behind her. Mickey stared after her for a few moments, then turned back to look at Ian.

"Are you all right?"

"Yes."

"Well," Mickey exhaled. "Guess I don't have to do the dumping any more." He gave Ian a small smile.

"Yeah," Ian nodded, not smiling. "Except now everyone and their mother will know."

Mickey hadn't thought of that. His heart stilled for a split second, then he let out a long breath. "Right," he nodded. "Yeah, I—I guess, I'll be okay. I mean, I'll—yeah. It'll be okay." He nodded again and smiled, timidly.

Ian smiled, then. "You shouldn't have to do this against your will, but if you're confident about that, you'll get through it. Don't let them get to you and.." Ian trailed off and his smile disappeared. He whispered something that Mickey couldn't hear, his azure eyes wide and staring into space.

"What?" Mickey asked, worried he was hurt. "What is it?"

"Mickey," Ian breathed, slowly. "I'm not putting words in your mouth here, but how long ago is it since you and Quinn had sex?"

Mickey eyed him, curiously. "Um, June.. Yeah, seven months, give or take a few days." He shrugged, unsure of what Ian was getting at.

"Right," Ian nodded, quickly. "And how far along is Quinn now?"

Mickey tried to remember. "Um," he said. "It must be, like, ten weeks now, right?"

"Okay," Ian said. "Okay, so I want you to think about that. Like really hard."

Mickey furrowed his eyebrows and looked at Ian, who was watching him with anticipation. He thought about it again.

"No," Mickey shrugged. "What are you getting at?"

Ian sighed and it appeared to hurt, so he grunted a little, then looked at Mickey again. "Okay, so I know you've had a lot to deal with and you haven't been thinking straight, but if Quinn is ten weeks pregnant, which is, like, two and a half months?" Mickey nodded, following. "And you haven't slept with her in seven months then—"

"Then the baby can't be mine," Mickey said, incredulously. He felt something catching in his throat and then he was smiling and throwing himself on top of Ian, who cried out. "Shit, sorry, I forgot, but OH MY GOD, Ian."

"Glad I could help," he croaked.

"Mm," Mickey said, kissing him once. "I love you," he told him and kissed him again. "I just—I just fucking love you, come here."

And he kissed him again and Ian smiled against his lips and Mickey felt another weight lifting. There was still more, so much more, but God, this made things a lot easier.

"God," Mickey whispered into Ian's mouth. "I—I love you."

* * *

"Where are you going?" Ian exclaimed when Mickey drove his car out of the driveway and turned left instead of right. "School is that way," he pointed out, gesturing to the right.

"I know where school is," Mickey smiled. "I'm taking you home."

Ian blinked a few times as Mickey drove down the long, winding road. "Um, so I can change?"

"No," Mickey told him. "So you can go home and like, not move."

Ian shot him an accusing glare. "I am not staying home today," he declared.

"Why must you be so difficult?" Mickey sighed.

Ian remembered what it had been like when he had come out. He remembered the stares and the sneering and the snide remarks. He remembered being shoved against lockers and laughed at and being called an array of names. He remembered feeling ashamed—not because he was gay, but because he was the centre of attention and for all the wrong reasons. He remembered wishing he had someone, anyone, who would be there to help him through it, who would provide him with some support, no matter how small. He remembered not wanting to go through it alone.

"You're not going to want to go through this alone," Ian apprised him. "Trust me."

Mickey opened his mouth, then closed it again. He was quiet for a while, then said, "Do you have your books at school?"

Ian nodded. "In my locker."

They were silent as they continued on down the long road, then Mickey made a turn and reversed the car, then went back in the opposite direction. Ian smiled to himself.

"Will your dad find out?" Ian asked, after a while.

Mickey exhaled shakily. "I—yeah. Probably. He's sort of friends with the parents of, like, half the football team and the Cheerios."

Ian bit his bottom lip, then, because he couldn't help thinking about what Mickey's dad would do once he did find out. He shuddered, because he had done what he had just because Mickey had skipped football game, he didn't even want to think about how he would react to this news.

"Mickey.."

"Don't," Mickey said, quietly.

Ian didn't.

They arrived in the school parking lot a few minutes later and Mickey parked his car and pulled the keys out of the ignition and the car went dead. They were silent, again, for a few heartbeats, then Mickey turned to look at Ian. He let out a long breath.

"You didn't have to come here today."

"Yes," Ian told him. "I did."

"You had no one.."

"Nope."

"I'm sorry," Mickey said, solemnly.

"It's okay," Ian shrugged, slightly.

They both went quiet again and then Mickey reached across and placed a warm hand over Ian's. Ian raised his eyes to Mickey's and he looked terrified, his hazel eyes wide and filled with worry.

"You'll survive, you know," Ian told him.

"I know."

Mickey dropped his eyes again and took a few deep breaths. Ian watched him,their hands still touching. Then Mickey looked up again.

"Thank you."

"For what?" Ian asked, tilting his head sideways.

" _Everything_."

* * *

Nobody batted an eyelid.

Mickey's ears were buzzing and the world was a clouded mess and he was prepared for the worst, but it never came. He and Ian walked down the halls in an eerie silence, because it didn't make sense that no one would say a word.

"I don't get it," Mickey muttered, glancing at Ian out of the corner of his eye.

"Maybe she's not here yet," Ian suggested.

"No," Mickey shook his head. "Last year whenever anything happened, she passed around a chain message, then had Lip print it in the school newspaper. She wouldn't waste any time."

"Well, then," Ian said. "I have no idea what's going on."

Mickey shrugged and they kept walking until they reached the corridor where their lockers were lined.

Ian paused at his locker and Mickey stopped, too and watched as he fumbled with the combination. Mickey stared for a few seconds, then reached over and twisted it open for him.

"Are you ever going to get the hang of that?" he teased, but his heart wasn't in it.

"Apparently not," Ian told him, as he reached inside his locker and chose the books he needed for the morning. "Luckily, I have you to do it for me," he smirked.

"True," Mickey smiled. "What do—"

"Mickey!"

Mickey swung around and saw Quinn coming towards him, grinning. She was walking with another Cheerio, Mickey didn't remember her name. He and Ian stared at her, open-mouthed, as she walked up to Mickey and leaned across and placed a small kiss on his cheek.

"Quinn, what are y—"

"I missed you," she said, sweetly. "I'll see you later, okay?"

Mickey couldn't form a complete sentence. He watched as she continued on down the hall. He came back to earth at the sound of Ian slamming his locker shut. He turned back to look at him and Ian shook his head.

"What just happened?" Mickey breathed.

"I," Ian told him. "Have no idea."

Mickey felt his pocket vibrating, then and he reached inside to pull out his phone.

 **1 NEW MESSAGE FROM: QUINN.**

 _We need to talk. Meet me at 4.30 at the Lima Bean. Bring your stupid boyfriend._

Mickey didn't think there was much to talk about, but he wanted to know what was going on. He handed the phone to Ian. He read the message, then smiled crookedly.

"Boyfriend, huh?"

Mickey's face tilted pink and he stammered over his words. "I—um, that—I just—we—uh.."

Ian raised a thin eyebrow and smiled. Mickey tried to retain his composure. _Boyfriend_ , though. It was strange to think of things in those terms. He had never had a boyfriend, obviously. He had only ever been the boyfriend. The thing was that Ian sort of was his boyfriend, in every sense of the word and eventually, Mickey was going to have to get used to that.

"Yeah he said, finally. "Yeah, boyfriend."

He watched the surprise light up Ian's face, his mouth parting as if he might speak, but he didn't. His eyes widened, all blue and sparkling and then he smiled and took a step closer.

"Well, then," he began. "I'll see you later, _boyfriend._ "

Ian gave Mickey's arm a small pat, before walking on down the hall, leaving Mickey staring after him. Mickey smiled when he saw how slowly Ian was walking. He wondered if he was more hurt from the injuries he had gained from the car crash, or from what they had done the night before. He was probably regretting having worn those skin tight pants now, but God, they looked good.

Mickey watched as Ian stopped to talk to Mercedes. He was smiling and saying something and his eyes were bright and he was blinking in that pretty way that Mickey found so enchanting, even if it was still a creepy thing to notice. Mickey saw Azimio walk by Ian and he said something to him, something Mickey couldn't hear. Ian rolled his blue eyes and shot back with what was probably a snarky reply. Azimio scowled and walked on. Mickey loved how Ian was, how he was so confident in himself and behaved as if nothing phased him.

Yes, he was proud to have Ian Gallagher as his boyfriend.

* * *

"I know."

Mickey looked up as Kenny slipped into the seat next to him. Mickey wanted to get up and go sit somewhere else, because Kenny infuriated him, especially when he thought about Ian's bruises and sprained wrist.

"You know what?" Mickey spat out.

"I know," Kenny repeated. "That you are sleeping with Gallagher."

Mickey sighed. He wasn't sure if he should deny it or not, because for one, he was scared, scared of the consequences, scared of everything, on the other hand, he was so damned tired, he just didn't want to care any more.

"I thought we were over that rumour," he said anyway.

"No, no," Kenny grinned, slouching back in his chair. "I had a little chat with one Dave Karofsky last night—well, it was more than a chat, actually." He smirked sideways at Mickey, who was staring at him with his mouth open. "But the thing with Dave Karofsky is that he's just trying to work himself out, you know? So, he'll take any chance to do that and when I sauntered in and gave him my best smile, he was all over me, if you know what I mean."

Mickey raised his eyebrows. "I don't want all the gory details, thanks, Kenny."

"Oh, but I think you do, Mickey," Kenny informed him. "See, Karofsky isn't looking for a relationship _per se,_ and God only knows I'm certainly not, but," Kenny said, emphasising the word 'but'. "Like myself—hell, like all of us—David has a sex drive." Mickey spluttered a little, then grimaced, because this was Dave Karofsky they were talking about. Kenny ignored him and went on. "Therefore, he thinks that if he tells me stuff, that I'll continue sleeping with him and you know what, Mickey? Let him think that. If he's going to give me all the juicy gossip, then, yes, I'll let him think I'll sleep with him again. I'm not going to, obviously. I mean, it's not like it was the best night of my life, or anything—"

"Is there a point to all this?" Mickey cut in. "Because I just don't need the images you're providing me with, right now."

Kenny laughed then, cruel and high. "There's always a point, Milkovich," he told him. "So, David told me a little secret about you and Mr Ian Gallagher."

"Did he?" Mickey said, tiredly.

"He did and you can pretend all you want, I know it's true," Kenny said, confidently. "I put the pieces together, Milkovich. I figure if you weren't closer to Gallagher—and by closer I mean 'having sex with'—then there wouldn't really be any reason for you to come around and beat me up for what I did, would there?"

Mickey knew he was right. He couldn't really hide it any more. He sighed again and sat back.

"Okay," he nodded. "So what? What's your point?"

"My point," Kenny told him. "Is that you—Mr Alpha Male—have a girlfriend."

"No," Mickey apprised him. "I don't."

Which wasn't a lie. Regardless of what happened, Quinn was not his girlfriend any more, she never really had been in any real sense, anyway.

"Well, last time I checked, you did."

"Do you spend a lot of time checking up on me, Kenneth?" Mickey enquired.

Kenny glared at him. "Don't flatter yourself, Milkovich."

"So, what is this?" Mickey asked. "Some kind of sour grapes because you had to drug Ian to get his clothes off and all I had to do was give him a smile?"

Which wasn't true, exactly. He didn't remember much of what he had done to first get Ian to sleep with him. He remembered every time after that, though. These were the things he never wanted to forget.

"Not even close, Mickey," Kenny smiled again. "I'm just letting you know that I have something on you, that's all."

"You don't, not really," Mickey informed him. "If you want to tell people, go for it. I'm sick of people trying to blackmail me. I don't suppose Karofsky told you about the incident in the janitor's closet with Ian?"

Kenny stared at Mickey and it was clear that he had no idea what he was talking about.

"You should ask him about that," Mickey smiled, happily. "You might find that you guys are a lot more alike than you think."

* * *

Ian was on his way to glee and the halls were completely empty. He was early, so he could walk slowly, which he needed, because every part of him hurt. The only sound was the clip clop of his shoes against the tiles, echoing through the corridors. Then he heard noises from behind him. He turned and saw Mickey jogging towards him. Ian smiled.

"Are you running to mock me, Milkovich?"

"No, I just wanted to catch up with you," Mickey chuckled and stopped jogging and started walking instead.

Ian stopped to wait for him, then he felt himself being shoved roughly against the lockers. His stomach and ribs throbbed as he slipped down to the ground. He looked up and saw Karofsky laughing.

"I thought we had a deal," Mickey said, angrily.

"At no point did we say violence was put of the question," Karofsky made his excuse.

Ian stayed where he was, just breathing, but he wanted to stand up and drag Mickey away by the arm, because Karofsky wasn't worth it. Except he really could not move right now.

"Karofsky," Mickey said, sounding weary. "Remember how we were sort of blackmailing each other?"

Karofsky said nothing, he simply scowled at Mickey.

"The thing is, I don't care," Mickey said and Ian looked up at him. He knew he was terrified, but he also knew he was getting tired of keeping up the facade. He wasn't ready for what coming out entailed, so Ian really hoped he wouldn't push Karofsky to a point that would make him tell everyone about him.

"Mickey, I don't thi—" Ian tried, but Mickey cut him off.

"It's okay," he assured him, then looked back at Karofsky, soft expression hardening again. "Dave, I talked to Kenneth Iggyerman in history, today and do you know what he told me?"

Ian looked up at Mickey, wondering what he could possibly be getting at. Karofksy looked panicked, his mouth open, eyes wide with shock.

"He told me that you.. How did he put it? Oh, yeah. He helped you with your 'sex drive'."

"Oh my God," Ian whispered and Karofsky shot him a less than amused look, which he ignored.

"So, really, what you have on me," Mickey went on. "Is nothing compared to what I have on you."

Ian frowned, because Mickey was threatening to out him again and he wasn't sure if he was serious or not.

"And unless you want to end up on probation—or worse—like your boyfriend," Mickey laughed then. "Sorry, he's not really your boyfriend, though, is he? He's more of a fu—"

"Mickey," Ian said, warningly, but he smiled a little. Mickey smiled, too.

"Whatever he is," Mickey said. "He's on probation for drugging Ian and trying to have his way with him. If memory serves, you didn't drug him, but you did try to have your way with him, didn't you?"

"I didn't do anything like tha—"

Mickey spoke over Karofsky, who groaned.

"Maybe not," Mickey stated. "But it doesn't sound good, does it? Shoving a guy in a dark, empty closet and forcing yourself on him?"

Karofsky looked flustered, but he didn't say anything. Ian pushed himself to sit straight and Mickey frowned at him, probably for moving. Ian shrugged and pressed his back against the cool metal of the lockers.

"So, apologise to Ian for shoving him when he's already severely hurt from what Kenny did, which I'm sure you heard all the little details about," Mickey ordered. "Also, please refrain from doing that again."

Karofsky groaned and punched a locker, emitting a loud crash. Mickey simply smiled and they watched Karofsky storming off down the halls, cursing under his breath. Mickey walked closer to Ian and outstretched an arm.

"Come on, pretty boy," he sighed. Ian took his hand and allowed him to pull him gently to his feet. Mickey steadied him, eyes watching him warily. "You okay?"

"Fine," Ian told him.

Mickey was smiling at him, his copper-coloured eyes watching him intently.

"What?" Ian asked, finally.

"What am I going to do with you?" Mickey chuckled and Ian just continued to stare in confusion. "Is there a gay guy in town that doesn't want to get inside those tight, tight pants of yours?"

Ian scoffed a little and felt heat spreading up his neck and then up into his cheeks. Mickey raised an eyebrow, which only caused Ian to blush even more and then Mickey was laughing.

"Come on, gorgeous," Mickey said, absently and Ian's heart skipped a beat. He stood stuck to the spot and Mickey looked back at him, quizzically.

"Coming," Ian squeaked and followed him, but his head was still spinning and his heart was still racing and the butterflies in his stomach were still dancing, because Mickey Milkovich had called him gorgeous.

* * *

"Show time," Mickey uttered, when he saw Quinn pushing the glass door open and walking inside, her nose high in the air.

"Mickey," Ian said, beside him.

"Hmm?"

"Can you loosen your grip a little? You're cutting off my circulation."

Mickey looked down at their hands under the table. He was clinging to Ian like the world was trying to pull him away and he just couldn't let him go. He let go, then and gave Ian an apologetic look.

"Sorry."

Ian smiled and looked back up. Mickey followed his gaze and saw Quinn, who had now spotted them, scowling as she made her way towards them, slipping in and out of the occupied chairs and tables. When she reached them, she gave them her best 'I am superior to you and you are not fit to wipe my shoes' look, then pulled out the chair and sat down.

The three of them sat in silence for a long time, just listening to the sounds of cups clacking against each other and people laughing and talking around them. It was, Mickey had to admit, extremely awkward. Finally, he decided it was time to break the ice.

"So, what do you want?" he asked and both Ian and Quinn looked up quickly, as if they were surprised that he had spoken. "Why haven't you told anyone? What's your angle? And by the way, Quinn—"

"How many questions are you going to ask in one breath, Mickey?" Quinn asked, narrowing her eyes. "Which one would you like me to answer first?"

Mickey didn't flinch, because he was sick of this, sick of Quinn acting like she was better than everyone, sick of her treating everyone—including himself—like crap.

"How about you tell me whose baby you're having?"

* * *

Ian almost laughed, he was so close to just spluttering that he had to bite down hard on his lip to stop himself. It was her face that did it to him. He didn't like seeing others suffer, but she had been going on with such crap and she was looking down at everyone around her and then when Mickey asked her about the baby, her face just fell and she looked speechless.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she stammered.

"Yes," Mickey said. "You do. We figured it out. The last time was June, Quinn."

Quinn looked ready to protest, but she looked from Mickey to Ian and then back again and sighed, clearly frustrated.

" _Fine_ ," she groaned. "Fine. We're even. We're cheating on each other. Are you happy?"

"Do I get to know who?" Mickey asked.

"No."

"How about how long?"

"October," Quinn muttered.

Ian felt out of place, like he was eavesdropping on something he shouldn't have been. He sat in silence, staring down at the round table, feeling extremely awkward.

"October," Mickey repeated, thoughtfully. It seemed as if a light bulb went on over his head then, as his eyes widened and he leaned forward an inch. "Iggy! I remember him acting weird the next day. The night of his party, right?"

Quinn said nothing, she simply reached up and tucked her hair behind her ear, eyes darting around. Ian could tell that this meant Mickey was right.

"Do you want to know what the most ironic part of all this is?" he smiled. Quinn did not reply. "The ironic thing is that we started cheating on each other on the same night."

Ian looked up then, realising it was true. Mickey was sort of just sitting there by then and Quinn looked a little shell shocked, so Ian thought he would say something.

"Why haven't you told anyone?" he asked.

"I have nothing to say to you," she informed him, eyes never leaving her nails.

"Didn't you tell him to bring me?" Ian reminded her.

"That doesn't mean you have to speak!"

"Oh, what am I here for then?" Ian asked, smiling a little. ""Just to look pretty? Or—"

"Can we just get to the point of all this, Quinn?" Mickey asked, glancing at Ian. "Why didn't you tell anyone? And why did you bring us here?"

Quinn sat up straight and flicked her blonde hair over her shoulder. "We need each other," she said, looking at Mickey.

"Um, no," he told her. "We don't."

"Yes, we do!" she stressed. "I need to stay with the most popular guy at school. I need to win this stupid Valentine's princess and then prom queen! I need to put all of that on a college application. I need to get through this pregnancy without people staring because it's not yours! I need to hand it up for adoption and I need to get out of this place. Then you're free of me, you can go back to being gay, or whatever, I don't care. But I need you until then," she said and Ian saw the tears in her eyes. he heard the lump that was caught in her throat and he couldn't help feeling sorry for her. "And you," she went on. "You don't want people to know about him," she said, pointing at Ian. "You don't want them all to find out that Mickey Milkovich is a big, huge fake, who likes boys. And you most definitely do not want your daddy to know. So, I'm proposing a deal."

"A deal," Mickey repeated.

"Yes," she breathed. "You pretend to be my boyfriend. It'll be just like always, because it's always been pretending, hasn't it, Mickey?" She didn't give him a chance to reply, just kept talking. "Do this for me. You can still go on screwing whatever-his-name-is, we don't even have to talk, we just have to put on a show. Do that for me and I won't tell a soul about what I saw this morning."

"No—"

"Do it," Ian urged and Mickey looked at him like he was crazy, and so did Quinn.

"What?" Mickey asked, surprise laced in his voice.

"Yeah," Ian nodded. "Do it. Accept her offer."

Mickey stared at Ian for another few moments, then looked back to Quinn. "Can we just have a moment alone?"

Quinn sighed and stood up. "I guess I'll go get a coffee."

They watched her walking away and then Mickey looked at Ian. "Why would I do what she's asking?"

"Because don't you remember how you were when this all started? Don't you remember being scared and feeling alone and wanting nothing more than for everyone to perceive you as this perfect guy and for your dad to just approve of what you were doing? Do you remember that?" Mickey nodded, but Ian could tell he had no idea where he was going with this. "That's how she is. Plus, she's having a baby. Yeah, she's a bitch and she would step all over both of us just to get to what she wants, but don't you think she deserves a break? You of all people know what it's like to live under the watchful eye of society. She's afraid and she's clinging to the last thing she has: You. Don't ruin her, Mickey. You wouldn't have acted very kindly if I had told everyone after that first night. You deserved a chance to come into yourself, to find yourself. She does, too."

Mickey was quiet, thinking about what Ian had said.

"Plus, there's also the part where you're not ready to come out," Ian reminded him. "Look, the pregnancy can't stay a secret forever. At some point, Iggy will put two and two together and come up with the baby. Until people find out, just pretend. Like she said, you don't even have to talk, just act as you always have. You're doing better with everything, with coming to terms with who you are and what you want. By the time Iggy finds out, you'll be even more comfortable with who you are, you'll have had more time with it. If you don't do this for her, do it for you."

Mickey groaned, quietly. "It's like you know everything," he said, smiling a little.

"I do," Ian smirked. "So, you'll do it?"

"You really think this is the right thing to do?"

Ian nodded.

"And me and you will still—"

"We did say boyfriends, didn't we?" Ian smiled, heart beating faster, because every time he said the word to Mickey he was prepared for the rejection, which he knew probably wasn't going to come, but he couldn't help feeling like that, because he had learned to expect the worst.

"Yes," Mickey smiled back at him, golden eyes shining. "We did, didn't we?" Ian nodded. "And you're okay with it?" Mickey asked.

He was fine with it, because circumstances meant the whole thing would be a big mess and he would just have to deal with that, because Mickey was worth it.

"Absolutely," Ian assured him. "It won't last for long, trust me."

"What about me and you?"

"I'm hoping that will," Ian smiled, shyly. They had one of those movie moments, where they just stared at each other and it seemed as if everyone else wasn't even there. Ian couldn't help thinking about how cheesy it was that he had felt like that. Mickey cleared his throat then and Quinn came back across the coffee shop, coffee cup in one hand, and sat back down.

"Well?"

"You've got a deal," Mickey

"Cool," Quinn said, quickly and she stood up again. "Good. Now you can go on with your blow jobs."

They watched her go and when she had closed the door behind her, Ian sighed.

"As tempting as the blow jobs sound," Ian began. "I sort of need to go home and sleep for about two weeks, because I feel like my entire body might cave in and stop working."

"Oh, well," Mickey said. "We can't have that, can we? Let's go."

Mickey stood up and offered Ian some help, which he took, because he was exhausted. He helped him out to the car and then got in, himself. He started to drive, then.

"So, Quinn and Iggy," Ian said.

"Yeah," Mickey nodded. "Am I.. Should I feel mad at him? He was supposed to be my friend and then he just.. I don't, though. I feel nothing. Is that crazy?"

"No," Ian said. "I think you're just done caring about people who don't care about you."

"You're right," Mickey said, quietly. "Hey, maybe next I could work on not caring about my dad."

Ian looked at him, curiously. "You don't think your dad cares about you?"

"What, you think he does?" Mickey asked, as if it was the stupidest question ever asked. "He cares about himself, Ian. The only reason he wants me to do these things is so that he gets to keep his status."

"Sounds familiar," Ian muttered.

"I'm nothing like him," Mickey told him.

Ian sighed and thought for a few minutes, trying to come up with a way to explain what he meant. "I would never, ever condone what he did to you and I didn't mean to say you were alike," Ian began. "I just think that so many people are so caught up with wanting to please others, that they forget who they really are. And that's where the likeness stops, Mickey. You're not like him, you're nothing like him."

"Sometimes I worry that at the end of everything, after having been so fake and so concerned with everyone else around me, that I would end up like him; Hurting the people that have only ever loved me."

"You love your dad?" Ian asked, but he already knew the answer.

"Yeah," Mickey said. "I might be crazy, a sucker for punishment and all that, but he's still my dad and even if he doesn't give a damn about me, I can't be like him, I can't not care about him. He wasn't always like this and I remember those times, the times when he was just my dad. Now, it's different, but I won't forget those times. The thing about loving someone, Ian," Mickey said. "Is that they can do all these awful, horrible things that you would never, ever agree with in a million years and they can sicken you to the point that you regret not having reported them to the police, or whatever. But you'll always remember the times when things weren't so bad and then you'll be glad you didn't take any drastic actions. I don't know what goes through his head, Ian and I don't even want to know, but loving him is something I can't make go away. I hate him, too, most of the time, but those times when I didn't hate him will always be with me.

"Most of the time, the good won't cancel out the bad, because you'll always remember how you felt when the bad thing was happening, but sometimes you just can't stop how you feel about someone, regardless of what they've done."

"I know that," Ian told Mickey and he saw Mickey's face when he realised just what he meant, that he was referring to Mickey and how he had hurt him, but that didn't have any impact on his feelings for him, stupid as that made him.

"I'll never forgive him, though," Mickey said. "What about you?"

"I already have."


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter 23:**

"Not that I'm complaining, or anything," Frank began, studying Ian with curious eyes. "But what are you so happy about?"

Ian smiled up at his dad. "No reason."

Frank did not look convinced, as he wiped his hands on his thighs. "You've got a bruised everything and you're sitting there smiling like you found a million dollars lying outside on the doorstep. What gives?"

Ian rolled his eyes, still smiling. "Dad," he said. "If I found a million dollars outside on the doorstep I would hand it over to the police."

When Ian was growing up, he had never really had any friends. At school, there were a couple of kids he talked to sometimes, but outside school, there wasn't anyone he could hang out with. Because of this, his dad was his best friend, the one that was always there. His dad probably knew him better than anyone else in the world. Which is why Frank sat down on the couch next to his son and hit the mute button on the TV remote.

Ian looked around in protest. "I was watching tha—"

"You can watch TV any old day," Frank informed him. "Seeing you smiling like that is something that can't be seen any old day."

Ian looked up at his dad, smiling at him and then he smiled, too.

"So, what's happened?" Frank asked.

Ian sighed and sat up straight. "Well—"

But Frank cut him off mid-sentence, frowning very slightly. "This has to do with that Mickey kid, doesn't it?"

Ian's mouth developed into a small 'o' shape and his blue eyes widened. _Did his dad know everything?_ "How did you..?" Ian asked, trailing off at the end.

"Because I know you," Frank replied. "Look, Ian, you can't let him keep leading you on like this. He's got a girlfriend, even if he does care about you. Fair enough if he still wants to be friends, but—"

"He doesn't have a girlfriend," Ian shook his head. It was true, in a way. Quinn was only his _pretend_ girlfriend. It didn't mean anything and even if they couldn't tell anybody, Mickey was making him happy.

"He doesn't?"

"They broke up and um," Ian stuttered. He hadn't told anyone this yet and he probably wouldn't for a long time. "We're sort of.. Together."

" _Sort of_ together?" Frank looked sceptical.

Ian nodded. "Look, dad, he's not ready to come out. He's not. He has a lot to deal with, what with his friends and his status and his dad—especially his dad. I can't force him out of the closet just because I want him to admit to the world that he likes me." _Loves me_ , Ian thought, silently. "I'm okay with keeping it a secret. He'll come round, I know he will. He's getting so much better at it and—"

"Look, Ian," Frank said, tiredly. "I'm happy that you're happy, don't get me wrong and he's a good kid, but I just.. I think you deserve more, you know? I think you deserve someone who's not afraid, who's as brave and as confident as you are."

Ian sighed. "Dad," he said. "It took me time to get to where I am today and I'm really only just finding myself now. Mickey's only at the beginning, he still has a long way to go. And I like him, dad, I really like him."

Ian didn't want to tell his dad that he loved him. Yes, he had told him before that he might be in love with him, but now it all felt that much more real. Mickey was telling him he loved him every so often. He looked a little awkward while doing it, but the sentiment was still there and Ian hadn't said it back yet, because despite the fact that he knew Mickey was very much into him, he couldn't shake the feeling that they weren't all the way out of the woods yet. Mickey still had a lot going on and who knew what he would do? If Ian gave him everything, his heart, those three words, then he would have all of him and Ian would have been happy giving Mickey his all if things hadn't been the way they were. He would say it back some day, but today was not that day.

"You think you and him can come out winning on the other side of—of all that?" Frank asked.

Ian shrugged. He wasn't sure. He hoped so and Mickey seemed hopeful, but you didn't always get everything you wanted.

"Maybe," Ian said, toying with the bracelet on his left wrist. He never took it off. "I hope so. We—he—I think we're good together. We're happy, anyway."

It had been a week since they had decided on the whole 'boyfriends' thing. It had started off a little bit awkward, but they were more comfortable together now.

"You should bring him over."

"I should do what?" Ian asked, sitting up a little. "Why? You've met him already."

"I met him as the asshole you were helping out, then I met him as a kid that just cared about your well-being," Frank pointed out. "Now I want to meet him as your, y'know, boyfriend."

Ian's skin began to hum every time he connected Mickey and the word 'boyfriend'. He hadn't ever really had a boyfriend (Evan didn't count and he hadn't ever referred to him as his boyfriend anyway, except for that one time when he'd been trying to piss that one guy at his old school off) and sometimes, he wanted to tell everyone, to just scream it from the rooftops that Mickey Milkovich was his boyfriend.

"I—um, okay?" Ian made it a question.

"Bring him over for dinner tomorrow," Frank smiled and Ian could tell he was really trying, because he had seen how much Mickey meant to Ian.

"All right, cool," Ian beamed. "I'll call him." Because Ian would take any excuse to call Mickey.

"Yeah, you do that," Frank nodded. "But first, I gotta tell you something."

* * *

"Finn Hudson's mom."

"What?" Mickey asked, when he answered the phone.

"My dad," Ian said, slowly. "Is dating Finn Hudson's mom."

Mickey sank back on his pillows and smiled. He could always smell Ian's on his things these days, that smell of soap and vanilla and an array of other things he could never quite place. Mickey loved how dramatic Ian was about everything, how he made everything so much more interesting just by the tone in which he said it.

"Is that bad?" Mickey asked.

"No," Ian told him. "But of all the people in town, he's dating Finn's mom. How uncanny is that?"

"I've never seen Finn's mom," Mickey realised. "And now all I can picture is Finn Hudson with a wig and in a dress. I'm so creeped out right now."

"Oh my God, Mickey," Ian gasped, faux horror in his voice. "Never say that again."

Mickey chuckled. "Sorry," he smiled. "So, other than Finn Hudson in heels, what's going on?"

" _Heels,_ " Ian breathed and Mickey laughed. "Actually, I sort of told my dad about us."

"Oh," Mickey said, quietly.

"Should I not have?"

"Oh, no," Mickey said, quickly. "No, I didn't mean that. I just meant, you know, I—he's thinking exactly what I am: That you deserve better than me, that you deserve someone who's not afraid to walk down the street holding your hand."

Mickey hated doing this to Ian, hated that he couldn't just tell the world that he had him. He was so tired of pretending, but too afraid to let the truth come out, even if sometimes that was all he wanted.

"I don't want anyone else," Ian told him.

Ian said things like that sometimes, romantic things that should have made him smile and they did, at first, but then he would remember that he wasn't giving him everything, wasn't giving him all the things he deserved from the guy that claimed to love him. And he did love Ian, a lot, more than he had ever loved anyone.

"You're an idiot, then," Mickey sighed, but he was smiling.

"Anyway," Ian said. "He wants you to come over for dinner tomorrow. Does that weird you out?"

"Not as much as Finn Hudson in a dress," Mickey quipped back and he heard Ian scoffing on the other end. "But yeah, I don't know. I guess it makes me a little nervous, but I'll do it. I owe you this."

"You don't owe me anything, Mickey," Ian sighed, tiredly. "And if you don't want to come, just say so and we'll forget about it."

"No," Mickey said, sitting up, his heart sinking a little. "No, Ian, stop. Look, I'm coming. I want to. I do. I want to come, I promise."

"No, you don't," Ian told him.

"I do," he assured him. "I just—I'm scared of messing this up, is all. I don't want to screw up what we have. Not ever."

"And you won't," Ian said, happily. "At least not as a result of meeting my dad."

Mickey didn't say so, but he wasn't convinced. He had this knack of ruining everything that he touched. He hoped to God that this would be the turning point, that he would never screw up again, because if he hurt Ian again, he would never forgive himself.

"You," Mickey smirked. "Have far too much faith in me."

"You're always putting yourself down," Ian said and Mickey could hear him smiling, but he was being serious. "You'll be fine, Mickey."

"I hope," Mickey told him. "So, what time do you want me and what should I wear?"

"Ooh," Ian hummed and Mickey realised he could have worded that better. "How about in ten minutes time in your field and wearing nothing?"

"I meant tomorrow, dork," Mickey grinned. "But that does sound tempting."

* * *

"Oh my God," Ian said, when he opened the door and saw Mickey standing there. "You look petrified."

"Thanks," Mickey deadpanned.

"This is a new look," Ian said, looking over Mickey's outfit. "The bowtie." Ian chuckled. He had never seen Mickey dressed like this, he was always so busy conforming to how others expected him to dress. Ian guessed this was the real Mickey.

"What?" Mickey asked, looking alarmed. "Should I lose it?"

"No, no," Ian grinned. "It's cute."

"Okay," Mickey said, looking unsure. Then he looked up at Ian, golden eyes sweeping all the way from the boots on his feet up to his blue eyes. "You look good, but you usually do."

Ian smiled and stood back to allow him space to get in, but Mickey was Mickey so he slid in and brushed his body off Ian's as he went. Ian gasped a little at the contact, but he didn't move away.

"I'm going to kill you," Ian teased, brushing his shirt down.

"Why, did I get you hard?"

"Mickey!" Ian hissed, gesturing towards the kitchen, where his father was struggling with making dinner. "No, you did not. Come on."

Ian began walking towards the living room, Mickey following closely behind. Ian could feel him staring at him, those eyes like burning cinders locked on him as he walked.

"God," Mickey uttered. "Your butt looks so good in those jeans."

Ian swung around to look at him. He gave him a half-amused, half-bemused expression. "When you're nervous, do you always cover it up with sex?"

Mickey gave him a sheepish smile. "Not that I've noticed before now," he told him.

Ian smiled, shook his head, then continued on into the living room and sat down. Mickey took a seat next to him.

"How are the bruises doing?" he asked, turning to look at Ian.

Ian lifted his shirt to show him the faded bruises. Mickey hadn't seen his bare chest in a few days now and the bruising had gone down quite a bit since then. It didn't hurt as badly any more, either. Ian blushed as Mickey studied his torso, his eyes crinkling a little at the sides as he ran them over the pale red bruises. Ian concentrated on taking even breaths as he watched Mickey, trying to read his expression.

"They still look pretty bad," Mickey said, nibbling gently on his bottom lip.

"Yeah, but they feel a lot better," Ian told him.

" _Oh_."

Ian and Mickey looked around to see Frank standing in the doorway, his eyes wide and darting around a little. He was holding a red and white striped tea cloth and seemed to be wiping his hands in it. Ian blushed harder and dropped his shirt back down over his chest.

"I was just, um, showing him how the bruising has gone down," Ian explained.

"Right," Frank said, awkwardly.

There was a silence that lasted about twenty seconds long, before Mickey stood up and spoke.

"Um, hi, Mr Gallagher," he said and Ian looked up at him, eyes wide. "Thanks for inviting me over."

Frank seemed to attain his usual manner then. "No sweat, kid," he smiled. "And call me Frank. Dinner's done."

* * *

"So, you like football, Mickey," Frank said, as he scooped more peas onto his plate. Ian glanced from his dad to his boyfriend, as he poked at his side salad with the prongs of his fork.

"Um, yeah," Mickey answered. "I mean, I like _watching_ football. Playing it is okay, just.. Not really my thing."

Ian stared at him. "But you're the quarterback of the football team," he reminded him.

"Not because I want to be," Mickey uttered, eyes on his food. He looked nervous and as if he would rather talk about anything else in the world.

It struck Ian then that he hadn't ever really asked Mickey about the whole football issue. he had just assumed he liked to do it. He realised then that Mickey only played football because that was what his dad wanted him to do. He was good at it because he had talent, but also because he pushed himself to be good, to please his father.

Ian decided to change the subject, but Frank cut in first. "Got any plans for after you finish school yet, Mickey?"

Mickey looked uncomfortable. "Um," he said. "I don't know. I thought I had it all worked out, but.. Things change, I guess." He shrugged and continued to cut his meat into small pieces.

"Ian applied to New York," Frank told him and Ian looked up at him, eyes wide, as if to ask why he would just tell him something like that. It wasn't that he didn't want to tell Mickey, or hadn't told him on purpose, it was just that they were working through a lot of things and they didn't need the stress of the future and college to sit on top of the already-large pile.

"Yeah?" Mickey looked up at Ian and smiled a little. "That's great."

Ian smiled and looked away. It was early in their relationship to be thinking so far ahead, but they would have to, eventually.

"Can I ask you something?" Frank said and Ian looked up at him and tried to get him to stop, because this was quickly becoming very awkward. Frank ignored him—or didn't notice, Ian couldn't tell—and spoke after Mickey gave a small nod. "Last week, you had a girlfriend."

"Dad," Ian said, laying his fork and knife down.

"It's okay," Mickey told Ian, then looked back to Frank. "I—Quinn and I were only ever together because we were always told we should be. I sort of just—accepted that, but um, apparently, I don't even—uh, like, um, girls."

Ian gave Mickey a smile, because he knew it had been hard for him to admit that to someone that wasn't Ian. He was getting there, getting better every day.

"Okay," Frank nodded. He seemed to accept it, but Ian knew he wanted to say more. He wouldn't allow him to, because as hard as Frank tried, he didn't really understand what Mickey was going through, especially since Ian hadn't exactly told him everything. He made a mental note to talk to him about it, tell him the little details, minus all the sex, obviously.

"Um," Ian said. "Dad, I'm going to go finish my homework." He stood up and looked at Mickey, who appeared to be finished with his food. "Coming?" Ian asked.

Mickey stood up quickly and lifted his plate to take into the kitchen. "Uh, thanks Mr Hu—Frank. Dinner was great."

Frank gave him a smile and a nod and then looked at Ian, smile disintegrating. "Door stays open."

* * *

"Are you serious?" Ian asked Mickey, his eyes wide.

"Serious about what?" Mickey asked, looking confused.

"You just.. You worked that math problem out like it was nothing to you," Ian said, looking at Mickey, his face a mask of surprise. "Yet you couldn't figure out that Quinn couldn't possibly be pregnant with your baby? What is wrong with you?"

Mickey laughed and closed Ian's math book. He sat back and sighed. "I'll never get how I didn't add that up faster."

"Me neither," Ian told him, throwing his books down onto the floor and falling back next to Mickey, their heads close.

"She called me today," Mickey told Ian, smile frowning.

"Oh, yeah?" Ian asked and Mickey caught the brief flash of disappointment in his bright, blue eyes. Mickey reached down and laid a hand over his. Ian didn't respond, just allowed him to place his hand there.

"Relax," he said. "She called to remind me about the stupid Valentine's dance. Apparently, she found some kind of dress that flares out and hides her bump, or whatever. I don't know why she was telling me this, but yeah.. I have to pick her up at 7 on Saturday."

Ian just nodded and Mickey gave his hand a small squeeze. "You're coming, right?"

"No," Ian said, looking at him like he was crazy. Mickey wished he would just show him he was okay, just one teeny, tiny squeeze of his hand would stop the familiar sinking feeling in his stomach.

"What? Why not?"

"Mickey," Ian said. "You want me to go to a Valentine's dance by myself? That is beyond tragic."

Mickey chuckled. "Why?" he asked. "It's not like you're actually single, you know?"

"Regardless," Ian told him. "I don't really want to see Quinn all over you the whole night, so I'll be just fine here watching 'Hairspray' for the umpteenth time, thanks."

"You know she doesn't.." Mickey trailed off, because Ian was frowning. "Ian," Mickey said, shifting his body so that they faced one another. "Do you want me to tell her the deal's off? I'll do it. Because, okay, maybe the whole coming out thing really scares me, maybe I'm not totally ready for it, but at least the lies would be over and I'm just so tired of lying."

"Yeah," Ian said. "And then you'll get tired of the fighting, because that's what you'll be doing for the next while, you'll be fighting to show people that there's nothing wrong with you, that who you like doesn't make you a different person to who you were before you came out. You can't win, Mickey. Either way, you're going to be tired, so at least wait until you're ready for the fight. Just.. Just wait."

Mickey sighed and moved in closer to Ian. "You're always so sensible," he smiled, slightly, staring up at the white ceiling.

"One of us has to be," Ian smiled down at him.

"I still think you should come," Mickey apprised him.

"Why?"

"Because I like looking at you," Mickey tilted his head. "Plus, I'm pretty sure you'd get a kick out of the whole thing."

Ian moved closer still, which gave Mickey some relief. Ian sighed and placed a hand gently down on Mickey's bicep. Mickey shivered. "Let's stop talking and make out, or something."

Mickey turned his body and moved so that he was hovering over Ian. He smiled down at him. "Say you'll go."

"No," Ian said. "You can't blackmail me like that."

"Can't I?" Mickey asked, lowering his hips. He saw Ian swallowing hard as his ocean blue eyes dropped to look at Mickey's lower half meeting his own. Mickey chuckled as Ian blushed high and bright in his cheeks.

"My dad has a shot gun," Ian panted a little, eyes rolling ever-so-slightly backwards in his head as Mickey pressed his crotch into Ian's.

"Really," Mickey said, lowering his mouth down to find Ian's slender, pale neck.

"No," Ian uttered.

Mickey chuckled and grazed his dry lips all along Ian's neck, starting from the small patch behind his ear. He dragged his lips down as far as Ian's pulse and sucked his skin into his mouth. Ian shuddered beneath him.

"Mm," Mickey whispered into Ian's neck. "You taste like.. Um, something I can't put a name to, but it's _gorgeous._ "

"Are you eating me, or kissing me— _Oh!_ " Ian's breath caught in his throat as Mickey pressed the palm of his hand roughly against his semi-hard length. "Oh— _Fuck_ , Mickey, why would you— _damn_ —why would you do this while my dad is— _oh!—_ upstairs? _Dammit_."

Mickey ignored his complaints and slid the zipper on Ian's jeans slowly down. In one swift movement, Mickey slid his hand past the waistband of Ian's underwear and took him in his hand.

"Will you come to the dance?" Mickey asked against Ian's lips. "Please?" He began to pump his hand back and forth along Ian's length and Ian's sparkling eyes disappeared, his milky lids concealing them like a curtain.

"No," Ian said, breathlessly, as Mickey ran his thumb over the slit. Ian was completely hard now and Mickey took so much pleasure in the small, gaspy, moaning sounds he was making.

"Really?" Mickey asked, catching his earlobe between his teeth. "Not even now?"

Ian hummed as Mickey stroked him back and forth harder and faster and Mickey knew he was close from the way his breathing had sped up and how his hips were jerking and how his eyes were rolling back and how Mickey had to close his mouth down over Ian's to swallow the loud moans he was emitting.

Mickey knew he was close, so he removed his hand.

Ian whined against Mickey's lips, his fingers gripping his shirt. He tried to speak, but his words came out in a muddle of incoherent grunts.

"Tell me you'll come to the dance," Mickey said, kissing Ian's lips once. "I promise it'll be fun."

Ian shook his head and groaned. Mickey pressed two fingers to the underside of Ian's cock and Ian moaned again.

" _Please_ , Mickey," he panted.

"Say you'll come," Mickey urged, pushing Ian's now damp hair back from where it was sticking to his forehead. "Come on, baby. Tell me you'll come."

 _Baby._

That hadn't been intentional and he saw Ian react to him saying it, his blue eyes freezing for a split second and his lips pausing mid-moan. It was just that Ian did things to him, things no one had ever done to him and watching him like that, knowing he was doing this to him, making him come undone, making him unravel at the seams, made Mickey crazy. He was nuts about Ian and sometimes, it still stunned him, but when he looked at Ian, he knew there was no way he could ever be any other way than hopelessly in love with him.

"Tell me you'll come," Mickey said quietly in Ian's ear, his voice a little raspy.

"Fine," Ian broke finally. "Fine. I'll come. I'll come, okay? Just— _please,_ Mickey."

Mickey grinned and closed his hand down over Ian's throbbing erection again. He moved his hand quickly back and forth a couple of times and then Ian was coming in his pants. Mickey didn't stop moving his hand until Ian's hips had stopped spasming. He pulled his hand out and fell back next to Ian.

"That was hot," he told him, without thinking.

Ian simply lay there, breathing, his eyes closed. A few seconds later, Ian sat up and opened the bathroom door.

"I can't believe you just did that with my dad upstairs," Ian shook his head. " _And_ the door is open!"

Ian flung a towel at Mickey so that he could clean his hand off. He smiled as he did and Ian grabbed a fresh pair of underwear and jeans.

"Admit you liked the risk," Mickey teased. "Plus, now you're going to the dance!"

"Um, no," Ian said. "I'm not."

"But you said you'd come," Mickey said, face falling.

Ian chuckled and gestured towards his pants. "And I wasn't lying, was I?" he smirked. "I _did_ come."

Ian gave Mickey a wink and then he turned and walked into the bathroom, leaving Mickey gaping after him.

* * *

To: Mickey.

 _Got told to pass on the message. New Directions are singing at the dance. Yay (assume sarcasm)._

To: Ian.

 _Which means you'll have to come after all!_

To: Ian.

 _I meant go, not come. GO._

To: Mickey.

 _Unfortunately, yes. This means your hand job was all for nothing._

To: Ian.

 _Not for nothing, no._

To: Mickey.

 _When did your mind get so dirty?_

To: Ian.

 _When did yours get so clean?_

To: Mickey.

 _It didn't._

To: Ian.

 _Good._

* * *

"Boy, you look good in a suit!"

"Thanks, Mercedes," Ian grinned. "Pearly purple is totally your colour."

Mercedes beamed at him and he gave hi hair a final spray, before joining her by the door.

"Ready to go?" Mercedes asked.

The dance was the last place Ian wanted to be, but part of him wanted to see how Mickey was with Quinn in public. He had seen them in the school halls, but this was different. They would have to dance here. Ian couldn't decide if it was a good idea that he was attending, or a bad idea.

Either way, he gave Mercedes his best smile.

"Ready!"

* * *

The school gym was dark and intricately decorated and Artie and Sam were singing on the raised platform that was supposed to mimic a stage. People were dancing and singing and laughing and the entire hall was an array of colours and shapes and slinking bodies.

Mickey was dancing with Quinn, because that was what he was supposed to do. She was sighing in his ear, because she was clearly as fed-up with this as he was. Her dress was red and _huge_. It was tight fitting around her chest, then flared out in a large netted skirt. He wondered what Ian would say if he saw it. He smiled at the thought.

Mickey couldn't tear his eyes from the entrance door. He was waiting to see that perfectly styled, sand-brown hair, those shining blue eyes, that pale, flawless, alabaster skin. He wondered, after a while, if Ian had changed his mind and decided not to come.

"Are you looking for your boyfriend?" Quinn hissed in his ear. "Because he probably won't come, you know? It would be kind of sad if he did."

"He'll be here," Mickey told her, simply.

Quinn looked up at him and rolled her eyes. Mickey sighed and looked back at the door again. He saw Mercedes and Rachel coming in the door, laughing, Mercedes dressed in purple, Rachel, in pink. Ian had to be with them, didn't he?

Mickey lingered on the spot, just swaying a little with Quinn, then he saw those searching blue eyes, saw that perfect coiff, saw that pale, almost-translucent skin. He watched him blinking, slowly and carefully, his eyes looking around the hall, studiously. Mickey felt his heart sinking as Ian turned his head to smile at Mike Chang, who had just greeted him.

When Ian smiled, it made him weak.

When Ian smiled _at him_ , it set him alight inside.

Ian turned his head, slowly and then his eyes landed on Mickey. Ian smiled, blinked, then smiled again, followed by a couple more quick blinks. Mickey returned his smile and Ian gave him the most subtle of winks, before turning back to the rest of his friends.

"They're staring at him," Quinn said and Mickey snapped back into reality. he had forgotten she was there.

"What?" he asked, flustered. "Who?"

"Them."

Mickey looked in the direction Quinn was gesturing and saw Iggy, Kenny and Karofsky standing by the refreshments table. Iggy was frowning at Mickey. Karofsky and Kenny were looking in Ian's direction. Karofsky was scowling and Kenny was grinning from ear to ear, like the Cheshire cat. Mickey glared at them, then turned away again.

They could stare all they wanted, Ian was his and there was nothing they could do to change that.


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter 24:**

"It's spiked."

Ian looked up from the reddish liquid in the plastic cup Rachel had handed him before she had gone to prepare for her solo, which she would be singing next.

"Um, what?" he asked Mickey, who had sauntered in the side door and was now leaning with his back against the wall.

"The punch," Mickey told him. "Don't drink it. It's spiked."

Ian grimaced down at the cup again, then laid it down on the floor in the corner, where no one would knock it over. He went and stood close to Mickey, but not too close.

"I wasn't going to," he told him loudly, over the sound of Santana singing Adele. "It's Rachel's."

Mickey nodded, then gestured towards the stage. "She sounds good."

Ian agreed and they stood there without saying a word for a few minutes, simply watching Santana performing. People were swaying on the dance floor and the music drifted slowly out of the speakers and through the air and Ian felt calm, at ease.

"This is the least elaborate outfit I've ever seen you wear." Ian turned his head sideways to look at Mickey, who was running his eyes down Ian's simple, black suit. "You look so good," Mickey told him, his golden-brown eyes finding Ian's blue ones.

"Thanks," Ian gave him his best smile, then looked down at Mickey's equally plain, black suit. He had a small red flower pinned to the lapel, probably to match Quinn's dress, which was a walking disaster. He had seen her earlier and wondered what would possess a person to purchase something like that. Ian knew she was trying to conceal her bump, but if he was honest, if he had been in her position, he would have rather had everyone find out than wear something like that. "You look pretty dashing, yourself."

Mickey smiled and looked back at the stage.

"So," Ian said. "When do you get your crown?"

Mickey frowned and turned back to look at Ian with a sigh. "Soon, I think," he told him. "I hope I don't win. Quinn will kill me, but I hope I don't win."

"I'm sure being the king has its perks," Ian teased.

Mickey chuckled. "It's prince, actually," he informed Ian. "Someone complained last year, saying that the king and queen titles should be reserved for prom, or something."

"Oh," Ian said. "Prince Mickey, then. So, if you do win, what does that make me? The prince's bit on the side?"

Mickey looked up at him, face solemn. "No," he uttered. "That still makes you my boyfriend."

* * *

"Time to announce the McKinley High Valentine's prince and princess!" Principal Figgins said cheerily into the microphone. "This is exciting! I wonder who it could be!"

Mickey frowned, because everyone knew exactly who it would be. He hoped things would be different this time, that maybe he wouldn't win, that perhaps Iggy or someone could have their turn. He knew better.

The hall was relatively silent and people stared up at Figgins, who was now holding a red envelope.

"And the McKinley High Valentine's prince is," Figgins said in his strong accent. He was silent for a few seconds, in an attempt to create suspense. "Mr Mickey Milkovich!"

Mickey sighed and put on a smile, because that was what he was so used to doing. Quinn gave him a half-hearted hug and then let him go. He made his way to the steps and up on to the stage, the applause now dying down.

"Congratulations, Mickey Milkovich!" Figgins grinned and Mickey gave him a smile. Figgins placed the stupid crown on his head and gestured towards the 'thrones', which were just chairs with red satin material draped over them. Mickey took a seat, still smiling and wished he could be anywhere else in the world.

"Now, to announce the princess!"

Mickey sighed and sank back in his chair. He could spot Quinn instantly in that dress. She was wearing a smug grin as she awaited her name. Everyone was glancing across at her, too. It was pointless doing this, really, they should have just given them the crowns and avoided the entire charade.

"The McKinley High Valentine's princess is," Figgins said, again, pausing for dramatic purposes.

Except this time he paused for longer. Mickey looked up at him as he squinted down at the card, eyebrows furrowing. Mickey wondered if someone had scribbled the name down in illegible hand writing. He thought about standing up and going to see if he could make it out, but Figgins looked up at the silent crowd.

"It's—ah.." Figgins stammered into the mic, his voice echoing around the hall. "It's Ian Gallagher."

Mickey sat forward, unable to believe his ears. _What was this?_ He scanned the crowd looking for Ian, but couldn't find him. He swung his head around when he heard a loud sob, but it was just Quinn, who was walking quickly towards the door. Mickey squinted his eyes, looking for him. He had to be around somewhere.

Then he saw a dark figure pushing its way through the people and heading for the same door. Mickey stood up, took the crown off his head and looked out, seeing Iggy, Karofsky, Kenny and the other footballers laughing hysterically in the back corner. Other people started laughing, too.

Mickey stood up and Figgins gave him a quizzical look.

"I'm going to see if Quinn's okay," he provided, before jogging down the steps and past the laughing crowd.

He pushed the door open and looked around, frantically. There was no sign of either of them. Mickey went left and turned onto a long, narrow hallway. He glanced in every open door as he made his way along the corridor. He turned back when he had reached the end and went the other way, because there was no way Ian could have made it all that way in that short amount of time.

Mickey did the same thing when he turned onto the other hallway and he stopped at the fourth door on the right, because he could hear frantic whispers coming from inside. He pushed the door open and saw Ian pacing back and forth, looking like he had no idea what to do.

"Hey," Mickey said, going closer. "Hey, stop. Stop, Ian."

Ian stopped in front of him, his blue eyes wide and filled with anxiety.

"Take deep breaths," Mickey nodded. "Deep breaths. It'll be okay."

"How?" Ian snapped, suddenly. "How is this okay? How is being humiliated in front of the entire school okay?"

Mickey flicked the light switch, because he couldn't see him in the dark. Ian shielded his eyes and looked away, quickly. Mickey reached out and pulled a chair across.

"Here," he said, laying a hand on Ian's shoulder. "Sit down."

Ian allowed him to push him gently on to the chair. Mickey pulled another chair to face him.

"They're idiots," Mickey uttered, with a quiet groan.

"Who?"

"Football team," Mickey clarified. "And Kenny."

Ian watched him through wide eyes for a couple of heart beats. "Did you know?"

Mickey looked up, eyes wider than Ian's. "What?" he asked, incredulously. "Did I—Are you asking me if I knew they were going to do that?"

Ian only nodded, twice.

"Ian, I would never—I wouldn't," he shook his head. "No. God. Of course, I didn't know."

Ian didn't look convinced, broken, but not convinced. "You were awfully adamant about me coming," he said, quietly.

Mickey gaped at him, then reached across and caught Ian's chin gently between his thumb and fore finger. He tilted his head upwards. "Look at me," Mickey urged and Ian's ocean blue eyes met his. "Never. I would never in a million years do that to you. I can see why you wouldn't trust me, but God, Ian, I—I love you, remember? I only wanted you to come because I always want to be near you. I didn't want you to be sitting at home by yourself watching 'Hairspray'. I wanted you here, with me, even if you couldn't be _with me_ , you would still be there, you know? Maybe that's stupid, I don't know." Mickey sighed. "But I do know that if I had known anything about this, I would have stopped it. I would never have let that happen to you. Not ever."

"I just—I don't get how they could have planned all this without their—what was it Iggy called you that first day?—Oh, yeah, their _'number one guy'._ Can you explain that to me, Mickey?" Ian went on before Mickey could reply. "I don't think you can, because the fact is, they don't move without your approval. Little do they know their number one guy is actually a number one _gay_ and is screwing the resident punch bag. And I stress the word 'screwing', Mickey, because if you were in on this—and I'm pretty sure you were—then that's all it's been: Screwing, just for the hell of it."

Mickey shook his head, his heart hammering in his chest. "No," he told him. "No, Ian. No, I lov—"

"No," Ian said, adamantly. "No, you don't. You don't love me, Mickey. Drop the act."

"There is no act!" Mickey groaned in frustration. He needed so desperately for Ian to believe him. "God, I love you! I would never do anything to hurt you, never again! That had nothing to do with me! That was low and cowardly and disgusting and you know what? Maybe you think I'm all those things—I wouldn't blame you if you did, but please, Ian. Don't believe I could do that to you."

Ian looked distraught, his blue eyes dropping to the ground. He buried his head in his hands and sighed as if he just wanted everything to go away.

"Ian," Mickey said, scooting his chair closer to Ian. He reached up and lowered Ian's hands from his face, then held them in his own.

"I want to believe you," Ian said, quietly.

"Believe me," Mickey nodded. "It's never just been screwing, Ian. It's always been more, a lot more, so much more that it kind of scared me sometimes, but I wouldn't give any of it away, not for the world."

Ian didn't look convinced. Mickey took a deep breath, then spoke, "Look," he said. "I'll prove it to you. I'll go in there, I'll walk up on that stage and I'll tell them. I'll tell them all that I'm gay. I'll tell them that I'm in love with you. I'll tell them that none of them know me at all. I'll do it, Ian. I'll prove it to you. I—"

"Wait," Ian said, pulling Mickey back down into the chair. "Don't do that."

"I have to—"

"Remember I told you that I don't want to be the thing that makes you come out against your will? I meant that. I believe you, okay? I do. I believe you. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to assume, I just panicked. I was scared you were using me, scared that you could just hurt me like that. Scared—well. Just scared."

Mickey nodded, knowingly. "It's okay," he whispered. "I get it. I just—I want you to know that I would never hurt you. I'm done with their childish jokes. I'm yours for as long as you want me. They don't mean a thing. Just you."

Ian sighed and he exhaled in broken breaths. Mickey entwined his fingers with Ian's and looked right into his bright eyes. Ian was blinking fast and Mickey could tell from the way he was taking contrived, slow, careful breaths that he was trying to hold back the tears.

"Hey," he said. "You can cry in front of me, you know? I won't judge you." Ian took another shaky breath, then breathed out, a small sob escaping his throat. "I just don't think you should," Mickey finished and Ian looked up at him with questioning eyes, his right eyebrow tilting upwards.

"Wh-what?"

"I don't think you should," Mickey repeated. "I think you should go back in there and show them that they didn't win with this stupid prank—or whatever you want to call it. I think you should go in there and smile, let them know they can't bring you down, that you're stronger than them."

Ian was silent for a second and Mickey saw the tears welling in his red-rimmed eyes. A single tear trickled down his face and he made no move to stop it. Mickey reached up and dragged his thumb gently over the wet spot, catching it, killing it, making it disappear.

"I can't do it," Ian said.

"You don't have to," Mickey informed him. "I just think they should know you're not afraid."

"But I _am_ afraid—"

"No," Mickey shook his head. "No, you're not afraid. You're _hurt_ and I'd give anything to make that go away. But for now, all I can tell you to do is to be brave, like I know you are. Go in there, show them Ian Gallagher can't be knocked down by some stupid, childish, high-school prank. Show them the Ian Gallagher that's not afraid of what others think of him. Show them the Ian Gallagher that inspires me every day, because God, I could never be as brave as you are," Mickey prompted. "Show them the Ian Gallagher I fell in love with."

Ian nibbled on his bottom lip, his hands shaking a little in Mickey's grasp. Mickey tightened his grip, hoping it came off as gesture of reassurance.

"I can't," Ian shook his head after a long silence.

"I'll be there with you," Mickey reminded him. "I'll even hold your hand, if you want." Ian shook his head, quickly. "Okay, I won't hold your hand, but I'll still be there and maybe that's not a huge consolation, but I just want you to know I'm there for you."

Ian just stared down at their joined hands for a little while and Mickey watched him taking slow, steady breaths, trying to calm himself down.

"Um," Ian coughed a little. "Won't people be wondering where you are?"

"I said I was going to check on Quinn."

"Oh," Ian nodded. "She must be mad. She should have won."

Mickey gave Ian a small nod. "Maybe," he said. "Can I tell you something?"

Ian gave him another small nod and watched him, waiting for him to speak.

"When I was a kid," Mickey began, stroking Ian's knuckles gently. "My mom would read me these stories. She was fine back then, nothing like she is now. Anyway, she would read me these stories about princes rescuing singing princesses from tall towers and she stopped one day, after I asked her a question."

Ian was watching him intently. He was sniffling a little and his eyes were still shining with the beginning of tears.

"It's funny, because I only just remembered this a few weeks ago and it sort of triggered a lot of things in my mind," Mickey smiled a little. "I asked her what would happen if the prince got to the tower and there was no princess and she said of course, there was a princess, because otherwise, there wouldn't have been any singing. I told her that wasn't what I meant. I told her that what I meant was what if the prince got to the tower and there was another prince up there, somehow. She panicked a little, then. I didn't understand why back then, but I get it now. She told me that that was impossible and if it did happen that there would be something very wrong with both princes—"

"She said that?" Ian asked a little incredulously.

Mickey nodded. "Yep," he confirmed. "When I got with Quinn, my mom asked me if I remembered that story—not the part where I asked the dreaded question that was obviously a sign of my flaming homosexuality," Mickey clarified and Ian smiled a little. "She asked if I remembered the actual story and I told her I kind of did, a little bit. Do you know what she told me, then?" Ian shook his head, no. "She told me that I'd found my princess. No joke, she really said that. She told me Quinn was my princess. She was starting to go at that point, so I could have blamed the medication, but that's actually how my mom is, Ian. She's really not much better than my dad, minus the whole violence thing, I mean.

"The point is, Ian," Mickey continued. "I realised that Quinn is definitely not my princess. I figured out that.. Well. _You are._ "

Ian gaped at him for a split second. "Okay," he said. "Okay, you don't have to rub this princess thing in, Bla—"

"I didn't mean that!" Mickey told him. "I meant that—and just a warning, this might be the cheesiest thing I have ever said in my life—I meant that I got to the top of that tower and I didn't find a princess, just as I expected. I found a prince. _You_. You're my prince, Ian, as crazy and cliché as that might sound, it's true. It's you, it will always be you."

Ian looked up at him, shaking his head slightly, and he was smiling, his chest quivering a little with trapped laughter. Mickey saw several tears slipping from his eyes and he tried to reach up to wipe them away, but Ian only gripped his hands tighter.

"I'm afraid they whipped you right out of a romance novel, Mickey Milkovich," Ian chuckled, tears still coming. "I don't think I want to put you back in, though."

"Good," Mickey smiled, too. "Good, keep me here with you."

Ian only smiled and looked back at Mickey threw those blue, watering eyes.

"You can do it, you know," Mickey uttered, finally reaching up to catch Ian's tears with the sleeve of his jacket. "I know it was a mess and a sick joke, but when you look at the reality of it all, you should be up there with me."

Ian looked thoughtful for a few heartbeats, then nodded. "I can do this."

"I know you can," Mickey grinned. He leaned across and placed a single kiss to Ian's red, swelling lips. He tasted like salt and strawberries. "I love you."

* * *

"You're not supposed to be in here!" Quinn screamed at Mickey when he walked through the door of the girls' bathroom. She was standing by the sink, wiping her black, mascara tears.

"I just came to see if you were okay—"

"Well, I'm not!" Quinn snapped. "You should have saved yourself the trouble."

"If it helps, Ian thinks you should have won," Mickey offered and Quinn groaned.

"Well, that's because _I should have won_!" she reasoned. "They have obviously figured it out!" She gestured towards her stomach. "I mean, look at me! I look like one of those people on 'The Biggest Loser'!"

Mickey smiled a little. She was far from huge, she was still small, just pregnant.

"I don't know what you're smiling about!" she shot back. "Voting you and him in probably means they know you're fucking him."

Mickey didn't point out that what he and Ian were doing was not 'fucking', because Quinn looked as if she might attack him with something.

"Quinn, look," he sighed. "I know we sort of don't like each other, but honestly, you're not fat and they didn't do this because they know about you, or about me. They did this because it's their idea of a joke, okay? They wanted to hurt him, so they hurt him. End of story. They didn't think past that. They didn't think about you, or about me, or about the possibility of you being pregnant, or me sleeping with Ian. They just think that they're clever."

Quinn groaned and slumped back against the wall as best as she could in the dress. She seemed to have calmed down a little. "I just don't want to be me any more," she told him, quietly. "Do you ever feel like that? That you just want to be someone else, even though you thought you had it all?"

"Every day," Mickey told her. "There are things I wish I could change every day."

"Like loving cock?"

Mickey choked a little. "Um, no," he said, clearing his throat. "Like not being brave enough to tell everyone that I do. Like the world not being accepting enough. Like the hurt I've caused so many people. All of that. What about you?"

"The baby," she said, immediately. "I would never have had sex with Iggyerman. The guy's a tool."

Mickey laughed a little. He decided Quinn was okay, even if she was a huge bitch and a snob. She was just trying to find her way. "Have you told your parents?"

"Do I look dead?" Quinn asked. "Don't answer that."

"We never talked when we were together," Mickey said.

"That's because we hated each other," she informed him. "Did you ever even like me?"

Mickey wavered here. He couldn't tell her flat out that he couldn't stand her. He shrugged. "I—we were never really very alike."

"That's okay," Quinn nodded. "I didn't ever like you. I mean, you're hot, obviously, but I just—Yeah. We were never very alike."

Mickey only nodded. This was the most they had ever talked, their first real conversation and it was when their relationship had ended.

"Do you love him?"

Mickey looked up. He didn't hesitate. "Yes."

"You're really having sex with him?" she grimaced.

"Yes," he said again.

"Ew," Quinn said, nose wrinkling around the bridge. Mickey frowned. She stood up straight and wiped her eyes in the mirror. "Okay, whatever. I'm going home."

Mickey watched her as she walked to the door and pulled it open. She turned back.

"The deal still remains, Milkovich," she apprised him, the old Quinn back. "You tell anyone and I'll have your name and the word 'faggot' printed and posted and spray painted every where."

"God, Quinn, you speak so eloquently," Mickey quipped back. "How did they not crown you princess?"

* * *

Mickey sat back in the throne, because Figgins had told him to. Mercedes ended her song and the hall went silent, because Ian had pushed the doors open and walked through. All eyes were on him and he looked terrified. Mickey caught his eye and gave him a nod of encouragement, trying to send him a message with his mind.

 _You can do this._

* * *

Ian climbed onto the stage, the entire hall eerily silent. Mickey was sitting in the fake throne, watching him with wide, hazel eyes. The crown was back on his head now. Ian's heart was hammering violently in his chest and he felt light headed and a little sick, but he could do this. He had to do this. It was the only way to show them they hadn't won.

Principle Figgins gave him a sad smile as he placed the tiara on his head. The hall was still painfully silent and he saw his friends looking at him with piteous eyes. He was tired of pity, he could'nt deal with pity any more.

Ian stepped forward and took the microphone stand in his shaky hands. He leaned his head closer and spoke.

"McKinley," he began. "I don't know if you realised it, but you just made me royalty. Which means I reign over all of you. Thanks, guys!" He grinned across at the footballers, who were watching him with their mouths hanging open, then turned, his head held high and took a seat next to Mickey.

The hall remained silent for another couple of seconds, then Figgins spoke into the mic. "Okay! McKinley!" he said. "Proceed with having fun! New Directions, where is the music?"

Tina, Brittany and Rory quickly ran on stage and started to sing a song Ian didn't know. It was a lively number, thankfully. Ian glanced sideways at Mickey, who was smiling.

"That was really brave," Mickey told him.

"I might have to see a doctor about how quickly my heart is thumping," Ian joked.

Mickey laughed a little. "In all seriousness, though," he said. "I'm really proud of you for doing that."

"Thanks," Ian said, smiling. "I'm sorry I accused you of being in cahoots with them. I just lost it a little, I guess. I don't really think you're anything like them."

Mickey sighed a little. "I'm glad you don't," he informed him. "I try my best not to be."

"I don't think you have to try," Ian said, elbow brushing Mickey's. It was strange, being on show like that, up on a platform, with the rest of the world below. "Did Quinn go home?"

Mickey gave an inclination of his head. "Yeah," he said. "She had a bit of a breakdown, then threatened me and left. No different than usual," he shrugged his shoulders.

"You need a ride home?" Ian asked, hopefully.

"Yes, actually. Her dad dropped us off," Mickey told him. "But first, I think I'll have a few words with my good friends Noah, David and Kenneth."

"Mickey," Ian said, warningly. He didn't want Mickey to get in a fight over him. He was tired of fights and disputes and all of the drama. He just wanted to move on from it all. They would be out of there soon enough.

"I said 'a few words', Ian, not that I would 'break a few arms'," Mickey chuckled as Tina began her solo. "Relax."

Ian was unconvinced. He stayed quiet, just listening to the sound of Tina's almost soothing voice.

"I can't just let them get away with it," Mickey said, beside him.

"What's your excuse going to be?" Ian asked and Mickey reacted with a confused expression. "I mean, what explanation can you give for defending the gay kid?" Mickey was quiet and Ian heard him sighing in defeat. He knew, however, that it wasn't very likely that Mickey would let it go. "See?" Ian said. "I don't need you to defend me, even though I very much appreciate it. It's fine. Keep your fists to yourself. We're almost out of here."

"You mean, you are." Ian looked around at him quizzically. This probably wasn't the best time to have that conversation. "Sorry, I didn't mean anything by that," Mickey shook his head and inched closer to Ian, their arms pressed flush against each other. "I think it's a night for our field, Ian," he sighed, happily.

" _Our_ field?" Ian asked, arching an eyebrow in question. "Since when is _your_ field _ours_?"

"Since always," Mickey grinned. Ian sat back and nudged his arm closer to Mickey's. He didn't understand, but he decided there was no need for further comment. However, Mickey felt differently. "The field was never just meant for me, it was meant for you, too, because like I told you, it's always been you. It always will be."

Ian smiled, then, his heart skipping a little. "My boyfriend, the romantic," he teased.

"My boyfriend, the cynic," Mickey baited, his knee touching Ian's. Ian looked around. It didn't seem as if anyone was watching. "Your romantic boyfriend loves you, Ian Gallagher," Mickey smiled. Ian still felt awful about not saying he loved him back, but he didn't think the time was right, just yet. He would get there, eventually.

Ian nodded and gave Mickey a smile, then looked out into the crowd and listened to Tina still singing. He whispered, loudly over her voice, "Your cynical boyfriend knows."


	25. Chapter 25

"I can't take you seriously with that thing on," Ian laughed. "Oh my God, Mickey, don't do that! Mick—Ah! Okay! No," Ian chuckled, sitting up. "Mickey, no—I'm just.." Ian reached up and pulled the cheap tiara off Mickey's head.

It was around 7AM (Ian had checked his phone) and the sun was a large ball of light in the pale sky. It was freezing and Ian's breaths came out in small puffs of smoke. It didn't help that he was naked with only Mickey's body heat and a thin layer of blanket that usually covered the back seat of his car, to keep him warm.

Ian was tilted onto his side, his left leg hitched up across the side of Mickey's right thigh and Mickey was slipping his finger in and out of his entrance, which was still a bit sensitive from what they had done the night before. Mickey was breathing into the crook of Ian's neck and grinding his erection a little against Ian's thigh as he fingered him open.

Ian let the tiara go and gave in with a sigh, because Mickey was crooking his fingers in just the right way and it was turning him on to hear him panting against his skin like that. He could feel Mickey's heart beating away against his body and his chest was rising and falling in time with his own. When they were this close, Ian always felt sort of connected to Mickey.

"Mmph," Mickey murmured against Ian's neck, his teeth nipping the skin very gently. "I love having my fingers inside you."

"I know," Ian told him and he tried of laugh, but Mickey reached up with his free hand and pulled his lips down to meet his own. Ian allowed Mickey to kiss him lazily, his tongue slipping through his teeth and finding Ian's, falling into a steady rhythm. Mickey's fingers were still pushing through Ian's opening. They were moving more freely now that he was stretched a little more.

Mickey's left hand was pressed lightly to the side of Ian's pale neck and Ian inched his own hand lower to touch Mickey's hard cock, which was no digging uncomfortably into his stomach. Mickey deepened the kiss when Ian touched him and after only three or four strokes, Mickey was already coming.

"Fuck," Mickey whispered, once he had torn his mouth off Ian's. He pressed his forehead against his and it was warm and sweaty. The movements of Mickey's fingers had slowed a little and Ian found himself needing him to move them quickly again, because he was close after having seen Mickey come so fast just from a few short strokes.

"Mickey," Ian breathed, pressing himself down over Mickey's fingers. Mickey cursed quietly.

"Sorry," he uttered, before speeding his fingers up again. "God, you're perfect."

Ian couldn't reply. His eyes fluttered shut and his lips parted as he felt the climax building higher and higher and then Mickey's other hand was pumping away on his cock and it was all too much for him to take. The world went white around the edges and his vision blurred as he came hard and fast, with a moan that sounded suspiciously like Mickey's name. Mickey didn't stop his fingers, nor his pumping hand until Ian had come down from the orgasm completely.

Mickey collapsed on top of him and they breathed together for a long time. Mickey's body was cold against Ian's from the waist upwards.

"Field sex," Mickey told him after a while. "Is slowly becoming my favourite kind of sex."

"Field sex is filthy," Ian pointed out.

" _Exactly_!" Mickey grinned and kissed him a thousand and one times and Ian forgot his own name.

* * *

Mickey dropped Ian off at home, because he had told his dad he was staying at Rachel's after the dance. Mickey went back to his house, got changed out of the creased up suit and showered. He got dressed, then went downstairs. His dad wasn't home and his mom was watching re-runs of 'Criminal Minds'. Mickey slipped back out the door and got back in his car and started to drive.

He had pretended with Ian, pretended that he had forgotten about how mad he was at the footballers, but every time he thought back to the awful silence and then the spine tingling laughter, his blood boiled.

Mickey didn't have a plan yet, so he drove aimlessly for a while. Eventually, he found himself at Iggy's house. He sat in his car for at least ten minutes, then opened the door and walked up the pathway. He had done this a million times before, but circumstances were different now.

"Milkovich," Iggy grinned when he opened the door. Mickey ignored the hand he held up in anticipation of a high five and simply walked past him into the entrance hall. "What's going on?"

"We need to have a talk," Mickey informed him.

Iggy shrugged, yawned and then gestured for Mickey to follow him into the living room. They sat facing one another and Iggy hit the TV off. "I know what this is about," he stated, then yawned again.

"Do you," Mickey deadpanned and he didn't even make it a question, because he was pretty sure Iggy had no clue what this was about.

"This is about the thing with Gallagher."

Mickey froze. Okay, maybe he did know. Mickey wondered if Kenny had told him everything. His stomach turned and he felt a little sick and nervous, but he tried to maintain his bored expression, tried to pretend that it was no big deal.

"Look, dude," Iggy said. "Nobody even cared that you were voted in with him. All that people were laughing at was Gallagher, so chill. It won't do anything to screw you up, so chillax."

Oh. Iggy thought he was here to talk about the fact that being voted as prince to Ian's princess would make him look bad. He should have known Iggy would come up with something like that. Mickey sighed.

"Actually, no," he shook his head. "I actually wanted to say that I thought it was a dumb thing to do. And how come no one told me about it?"

"Because you and Gallagher have to meet up for some assignment, right? We didn't want it slipping out."

"You're an asshole, Iggyerman," Mickey told him.

"What the—"

"Seriously, why would you do something like that? I mean, there is nothing even remotely funny about what happened last night. It was low and fucking stupid."

"It was totally funny!" Iggy grinned. "Did you _see_ Gallagher's face? Priceless!"

Mickey stood up then and clenched his fists hard. Iggy gave him this quizzical look, then stood up, too, staring at him like he was frothing at the mouth. Mickey felt as if he could, anyway. Yeah, he had seen Ian's face, he'd held his hand and told him it would be okay. He had wiped his tears and kissed his lips and tried to put him back together after what they had done to him.

"You think making a kid cry is funny?" Mickey asked, furrowing his eyebrows.

"Uh, yeah," Iggy said, matter-of-factly. "What the hell has gotten into you, Milkovich? Remember that time Lip whatever-his-name-is tripped over his shoe lace and he landed inside that garbage can? He cried and you totally laughed."

"Laughing at someone tripping up is totally different to showing someone up because of their sexuality in front of the entire student body, Iggy!" Mickey snapped. "Actually, maybe it's not that different, but we can't go on doing this forever! Can you not see how fucking ridiculous this is? We act like we rule the school, like nothing can touch us, but we can't go on like that forever. Yeah, there'll always be a social divide, but.. That, last night, went beyond anything we have ever done. How the fuck did you even pull that off?"

Iggy was staring at him, open mouthed. "Um," he said, slowly. "We had Lip set it up. He was in charge of all that. Dude, where is the fire? I don't get why you're so mad about some fag—"

"I'm mad because it's not fair, Iggy!" Mickey apprised him. "I'm mad because everyone at this fucking school thinks everyone is supposed to be a certain way and if they're not, then, what the hell, let's make their lives a misery until we go out into the real world and realise that, hey, not everyone is that certain way we always thought we were supposed to be. Can't you see how pointless doing that to Ian Gallagher was? What can you gain from a thing like that? Ten minutes of laughter and a black eye?"

Iggy gave him a confused look. "A black eye? I don't ha—"

Mickey punched him then, because he was through with this conversation. If Iggy was just going to be an asshole about it, he didn't want to waste any more time standing around arguing with him about it.

Mickey walked past Iggy, who was clutching his face and shooting Mickey this stunned expression. Mickey ignored him and headed upstairs to find Kenny. He didn't stop to knock once he had reached Kenny's room, he simply threw the door open and walked inside. Mickey froze because Kenny was not alone.

"Perfect," Mickey said, with a small smile, once Kenny and Dave had sat up in the bed and were staring at him with wide eyes. "I can kill two birds with one stone. You have ten minutes to get your clothes on and clean yourselves up before I tell the whole town."

* * *

"Wow, Karofsky," Mickey said, once he had gone back inside to find Kenny and Karofsky fully dressed and sitting far apart. "You look mortified. Do you want to know who else looked mortified a little less than, oh, I don't know, twelve hours ago?"

"Look, Anderso—"

"I wasn't actually addressing you, Kenneth, please wait your turn," Mickey said, keeping his eyes on Karofsky, who was looking down at his feet. "Ian Gallagher," Mickey provided. "You remember him, don't you, David? The guy you shoved in a dark closet and tried to get his clothes off?"

"I never—" Karofsky protested, but Mickey spoke over him.

"You remember Ian, right, Kenny?" he smiled. "The one you drugged just so that he would go to bed with you?"

They were both silent, even Kenny for once in his life. Mickey folded his arms and leaned back against the wall, looking back and forth between the two of them. Karofsky still looked terrified and Kenny looked far from amused.

"So, let me ask you a straight question—On second thoughts, that won't work will it? Since we're all gay here, after all," he said. "So, tell me. What part of showing a kid up because of his sexuality was funny to you? I mean, Iggy, I can kind of understand, he doesn't know what it's like to be something that the rest of the world deems wrong. You two know exactly how it feels. So, seriously, enlighten me, because I don't understand."

"It wasn't our ide—"

"Whose idea it was is beside the point, Dave," Mickey frowned. "The point is that you went along with it and even laughed at it. So, what's the deal? I mean, I was of the opinion that you sort of liked Ian Gallagher, from what I saw that day in the janitor's closet anyway." Karofsky groaned, angrily. "And from the way you're always hitting on him and sending him inappropriate songs," Mickey looked to Kenny. "I figured you sort of liked him, too. So, I fail to see the connection here, boys."

"It's not about him being gay, you fucking idiot!" Kenny protested, dark eyes wild. "It's about him being a fucking weak little girl! Don't you get it? He acts like a princess, so he was crowned princess! It all fits perfectly!"

"Does it?" Mickey asked, going closer. He needed to calm down or he was going to end up with both Kenny and Karofsky punching the crap out of him. "Do you even know Ian Gallagher? I guess, you don't, actually. I mean, how much can one find out about a guy when they've given them drugs? I wouldn't know, but I'm guessing not much."

Kenny gave him an angry glare. Karofsky looked away, quickly, obviously not wanting Mickey to bring up the closet incident again.

"The thing about Ian Gallagher," Mickey went on. "Is that he might be slight and a little more elegant than the rest of us, but he's so much stronger than all three of us combined. Me and you, Dave, we hide. We act like we're still these big, tough, straight guys, but we're not. We're about as straight as a God damned roundabout. And you," Mickey said, looking back to Kenny. "You hide behind the man-slut image, acting as if all you think about is sex and getting people's clothes off and maybe you do, I don't know, but that can't be all you think about. There has to be a point when you turn all that off and just come home and be yourself."

They were gaping at him, now, looking as if they had no idea where this was going. Mickey wished he had simply punched both of them and then left, but he couldn't. He had a lot to say.

"Ian is completely himself, 24/7," Mickey informed them. "That's what makes him better than us. He doesn't give a shit about what the rest of us think he should be, he just goes ahead and does what he wants. He's not afraid to be who he really is. He's better than us, stronger than us, he's something we could only ever wish to be. So, don't give me that crap about him being a princess, Kenny. Ian Gallagher is someone you both wish you could be like and that's why you're taking this out on him. I wish I could be like him, too, but I can't hate him because he's braver than I am. Hating him and hurting him doesn't make it easier, it won't help you in any way to do that to him. So, you may as well stop now, while you're ahead."

" _Please_ ," Kenny scoffed, standing up straight. "You're just saying that because you're fucking him. If Gallagher wasn't putting out, if he wasn't letting you fuck his fine ass, you'd be standing here laughing with the rest of us, Milkovich. You're using him for the sex and he thinks it means something, bless him. Or, hey, maybe he's using you, too! Don't think I don't notice when either one of you is walking funny at school. I know what you've been up to and by the looks of it, Gallagher is a complete cock slut—"

Mickey moved forward and in a flash, he had Kenny pinned roughly to the wall. Mickey's heart was hammering away inside his chest and he was just so mad that he didn't know if he wanted to punch him or scream. He tried to remain calm, because he didn't need to get into a wrestling match with these two.

"You're not even worth it," Mickey snarled, loosening his grip on Kenny. Kenny straightened himself up, breathing heavily.

Mickey turned and looked at Karofsky. "Got anything to add?" Karofsky shook his head. "You know he's only using you, right?" Mickey asked Dave. "He's not getting it anywhere else, so he's using you. I—You know what? Fuck it, you're using each other, obviously. You guys deserve each other. Neither of you are worth hurting my fists over. But if either of you even look at Ian Gallagher again, I'll make an exception."

Mickey gave them a final glare, before turning around and walking out of the room, his entire body shaking with anger.

"I'm going to tell fucking everyone about you, Milkovich!" Kenny shouted after him. "Everyone's gonna know you're screwing pretty boy Gallagher! EVERYONE!"

"So tell them," Mickey shouted back, sounding unscathed. He waited until he was in the privacy of his own car to stop and think about what he had just done. He was screwed. Once everyone found out, his dad would find out and then everything would be gone. Well, except Ian, possibly, though who knew if he would even live long enough to see Ian again if his dad found out about it. Mickey sighed and cursed himself for not listening to Ian, but he did feel a bit better after having had it out with them.

"Screw it," Mickey uttered, as he began his way home.

Maybe everyone finding out was a good thing, in a way. He was tired of pretending, tired of being someone he wasn't. The only problem was that he might not get a chance to live life as the real Mickey Milkovich, because his father was absolutely nuts and very homophobic and if he found out, Mickey didn't even want to contemplate what might happen.

There was nothing he could do about it now.

* * *

"I need to see you."

"Um, hi," Ian said into his phone. "Is it all the craze to answer the phone with a random phrase instead of a good old fashioned 'hello'?"

"Sorry," Mickey muttered. "Hi, Ian, it's Mickey, I hope you're well, what fine weather we're having, I need to see you."

Ian sat up a little. Mickey sounded funny. "Um, okay, you're being sardonic," Ian said, slowly. "What's wrong?"

He heard Mickey sighing on the other end. "I'm scared."

Ian's mind started envisioning all these awful scenarios, most of which involving Mickey's dad and his violent nature. He was beyond worried about him. "Why?" he asked, quickly. "Mickey, are you okay?"

"I sort of went round to Iggy's after I took you home."

Ian's heart sank. He wasn't sure what to think. "And?"

"And I had it out with him and then I punched him," Mickey said. "Then I went upstairs to find Kenny—"

"Mickey," Ian groaned, frustrated.

"I know, okay? But I couldn't not say anything!"

"Yes," Ian told him. "You could."

He was flattered that Mickey wanted to protect him, it touched him in a way that he had never been touched before, but he didn't want Mickey to get into trouble over it.

"No, I couldn't," Mickey said. "Anyway, so I went upstairs and found Karofsky in his bed."

"You're kidding!"

"Would I joke about a thing like that?" Mickey asked ad Ian was relieved to her the smile in his voice. "So, I gave them a piece of my mind and then Kenny said he would tell everyone and I told him to do it."

Ian was silent for a few heartbeats. "You didn't."

"I did," Mickey affirmed. "I know I keep telling you I'll do it, that I'll just come out, but when the possibility of it happening is staring me straight in the face, it terrifies me."

"I know," Ian said, softly. "You think he'll really do it?"

"I have no idea," Mickey said. He sounded miserable. "But I just need to see you, okay? Because if he does and my dad finds out, I don't know what's going to happen."

"Don't say tha—"

"It's true, Ian," Mickey uttered. "I just need to see you and show you I love you, because it might be my last chance."

"Mickey," Ian sighed.

"What?"

"Shut the fuck up being so dramatic and weigh your options."

"Options?" Mickey asked, voice laced with bewilderment.

Ian explained to Mickey that he was eighteen years old, that he didn't have to stand for what his father was doing. Of course, he shouldn't have ever had to stand for the abuse and the violence and all of that other stuff, but Mickey considered this to be pretty serious and drastic, so he really needed to do something about it.

"When he confronts you about it, stand your ground," Ian urged. "You can come here, you know. My dad would be fine with it."

"I guess."

"You know he probably won't tell anyone," Ian soothed. "He didn't tell anyone last time and as bad as he is, we all know what it's like to be gay and not wanting anyone to know. My bet is that he won't say anything."

"But how do you know that?" Mickey choked out.

"Because I'm magic," Ian grinned. He heard Mickey laughing then and it gave him a sense of accomplishment.

"I love you, you know that?" Mickey told him. "I don't care if you never say it back, if you never love me, I just want you to know how much I love you."

Ian swallowed hard. "You don't care if I never say I love you back?"

"Okay, I do care," Mickey informed him. "But I don't want you to say it just to make me feel better about it."

"I would never do that."

"I know," Mickey said, happily. "Until you know for sure, I'm just going to keep on telling you I love you."

Ian smiled, because it seemed as if Mickey understood, even if he didn't know every detail behind the reason he hadn't said it back yet.

"I think I might have the perfect boyfriend," Ian chuckled.

"I think I might, too."

* * *

"Gallagher?"

"Let me in, Kenny."

Kenny stood back and Ian walked inside, aware of his eyes roving over his back side. Ian turned and faced him, scowling.

"To what do I owe this pleasure?" Kenny smiled.

"Can we talk in private?"

"Why, Ian Gallagher, are you inviting yourself into my bedroom?" Kenny smirked.

"Do I look like Dave Karofsky?" Ian deadpanned.

Kenny's smirk fell and he sighed and gestured for Ian to follow him upstairs to his room. When they went inside, Ian shuddered, remembering how he had felt that morning when he had believed he and Kenny had..

"So, what's this about?" Kenny asked, sitting down on his bed.

"I need you to not tell anyone about Mickey."

Kenny laughed cruelly, then. "Oh, yeah?" he asked. "What's in it for me?"

"Um, you get to pride yourself for being a decent human being for once in your life?" Ian offered, weakly.

"No can do, Gallagher."

"What do you want?"

"You."

"I'm off limits, taken, spoken for, all that," Ian told him and he smiled to himself, because that was true.

Kenny sat up straight and smiled, tilting his head a little, dark eyes studying Ian. Ian shivered, because Kenny was an absolute creep.

"Stop ogling me," Ian demanded. "I don't have anything on you, Kenny and I don't believe in blackmail anyway, so I'm just asking you as one gay guy to another, who knows what it's like to not want anyone to find out your deepest, darkest secret, I'm asking you to not do this to him."

"Why?" Kenny asked, shaking his head. "I don't get it. He's an asshole, he's walking down the halls with his girlfriend by day and screwing you by night. What gives?"

"It's none of your business," Ian muttered.

Kenny stood up, then. "So, I'm making it my business. You tell me and I'll keep quiet about your sordid love affair."

Ian sighed. It was the only way he could get him to keep quiet. But..

"No," Ian shook his head. "No, if I tell you this, I'll have to ask you to keep quiet about that, too."

"Time's a-ticking, Gallagher."

Ian took a deep breath. He didn't have to tell Kenny everything, after all. "Mickey and I are dating, but in secret," he told him. "Quinn knows, but she's agreed to keep quiet."

"Now, why would she do a thing like that?" Kenny enquired. "Unless she has a secret of her own!"

Ian was afraid he would ask that. Quinn's secret was not his to tell. "Um, no," Ian said, slowly. "She's just decided to be a decent human being and not tell the world. You could try that, Kenny. I bet it'd make you feel good inside."

"You know what else could make me feel good?" Kenny tilted an eyebrow and gave Ian a wide smile.

"Karofsky?"

"Screw Karofsky!" Kenny exploded, smile disappearing.

"I thought you already did," Ian stated and Kenny scowled at him. "So, do we have an agreement or not?"

"Oh, I wasn't going to tell anyone anyway, Gallagher," Kenny told him. "But I wouldn't mind a blow job."

"Well, if I see Dave Karofsky on my way home, I'll be sure to send him over. Nice talking to you."

* * *

"You went over there?" Mickey yelled and Ian had to hold the phone away from his ear a little bit. "Are you nuts?"

"Possibly," Ian smiled. "But the good news is that he said he wouldn't say anything. We're fine." He heard Mickey groaning. "What now?"

"I was sort of getting myself used to the idea of being outed," Mickey told him. "I mean, yeah, I was still scared, but I'm so fucking tired of hiding. I can't bring myself to do it, so maybe it would have been better for him to do it for me."

"Being outed by someone else is not a good thing, Mickey," Ian frowned.

"I know," he said, quietly. "But don't you think the truth is better than lying all the time?"

Ian sighed again and sat back against his pillows. Mickey just did not understand. He thought he did, but he didn't. "I know you think it'll be okay once you tell the truth, but it won't, Mickey," Ian told him, sadly. "Once you're out, you've got to deal with so much stuff. Trust me, I know. I just think you need to do this in your own time. Nobody else has the right to out you. If you're still terrified, then you're not ready. It's not long ago that you admitted it to yourself, let it sink in properly, then worry about coming out. For now, just try and get through school, okay?"

"When are you going to stop being so sensible and do something completely crazy?" Mickey teased.

"I do something completely crazy almost every day," Ian pointed out.

"Oh, yeah?" Mickey asked. "What's that?"

"You."


	26. Chapter 26

**Chapter 26:**

"Where have you been?"

Mickey closed the front door behind him and turned to face his father who was standing by the staircase with his arms folded across his chest. He was wearing a suit and tie and his expression was sour.

"Um, school," Mickey said, simply.

His dad blinked a couple of times. "Until 9PM?"

Mickey didn't bother pointing out that it was actually about 8.15, he simply shrugged and said, "I had to work on an assignment with my English partner." He also didn't add the fact that working on an assignment with his English partner had ended with some intense making out in his car.

"The gay one?"

"Yes, dad, the gay one," Mickey said, unable to hold back a sigh. "Does it matter?"

"Everything matters, Mickey."

Mickey resisted the urge to point out that his father was being a hypocrite in saying everything mattered. As far as his father was concerned, glee club didn't matter, Mickey's happiness didn't matter, _Mickey didn't matter._

"You should be ready to hear back from all those colleges you applied to soon," his father went on and Mickey's stomach did a flip. "It's lucky you applied to so many places, or I would be worried, what with that stunt you pulled with abandoning the game for singing."

"Um, yeah," Mickey uttered. "Lucky."

* * *

Mickey felt Ian nudging him with his elbow during English. He glanced sideways at him and saw he was pushing his notebook towards him. Mickey looked down to see Ian's neat handwriting on the side of the page.

 _Mickey._

 **?**

 _.. Never mind._

 **Wait. What. What?**

Ian didn't write back, he simply sat there, lips tight, staring up at the front of the classroom.

 **Ian?**

 **Ian, come on.**

 **Ian. Ian, I love you.**

 _Don't write that on paper._

 **What did you want to tell me?**

 _Nothing, I'm mad at you._

 **Why?**

 _Because question mark._

 **I'm sorry. I take it back. Tell me.**

Mickey saw Ian stifle a smile out of the corner of his eye, then he took his pen and scribbled.

 _Can we talk? I mean, after school?_

 **Are you breaking up with me?**

 _Mickey._

 **Seriously, though. Are you breaking up with me? If you are, I'd rather you just did it now.**

 _Through a note passed during English?_

 **Oh my God, you are! You're breaking up with me!**

 _Will you relax?_

 **Not if you're breaking up with me!**

 _Mickey._

 **? ? ?**

 _Mickey. X._

 **Sooooooooooo...**

 **You're NOT breaking up with me?**

 _No. I am not breaking up with you._

 **Because you know I love you, right?**

 **Oh.**

 **Good.**

 **That's good.**

 **Okay. So, what do we need to talk about?**

 _Meet me after school, okay?_

 **But..**

 **Okay :)**

* * *

"You have had me freaking out all day," Mickey said when Ian walked through the hedges to the familiar field. Mickey was sitting in the grass, picking the white petals off of a daisy. Ian went and sat next to him.

"Okay," Ian said and took a deep breath. "I need to ask you something."

"Shoot," Mickey shrugged, but Ian could tell he was afraid of what was to come.

"Mickey, where did you apply to college?"

Ian watched as Mickey's fingers stopped tugging the daisy petals, his face freezing. His eyes were wide and his mouth was stretched into a thin, tight line.

"Oh, we're having this conversation," Mickey said, sounding frightened.

Ian nodded, because they had to have it at some time, didn't they? They were nearing the end of school and they needed to talk about this, get everything straightened out and settled and easy to understand. Right now, Ian had no idea what was going to happen. They needed to have this talk.

"I didn't apply anywhere."

Ian gaped at him for a long time, the rustle of the leaves in the wind the only sound for miles.

"Um," Ian said, stunned. "What?"

"I told my dad I did," he explained. "But I don't know what I want to do. I thought football was my ticket out of here, but I don't want to play football any more. By the time I realised I should probably have applied to places that would allow me to play football, it was too late."

"So," Ian said, carefully. "What are you going to do?"

"I don't know," Mickey sighed, laying back and folding his arms behind his head. "Get a job, if I live that long. My dad won't be happy when he finds out, so who knows?"

Ian shook his head. This changed everything.

"Will you sit up for a minute and look at me?"

Mickey studied him with knitted brows, then sat up and gave him a quizzical look. Ian reached inside his pocket and produced a white envelope, then handed it to Mickey. Mickey opened it, slowly, as if he was afraid that snakes might pop out. Eventually, he got it open and lifted the letter out. He unfolded it, then read it. Ian looked away.

"You.." he trailed off, then looked up to meet Ian's eyes. Ian was surprised to see Mickey was smiling. "You got into college! In New York!" Ian nodded, slowly. "Why aren't you happy about this?"

"Um," Ian said and gave Mickey a meaningful look.

Mickey looked bewildered for a couple of heart beats, then realisation dawned on his face. "Oh," he said, quietly. "Us. You mean us."

Ian gave Mickey a slow nod.

"So, um, what exactly did you want to, um, say?"

"I don't know," Ian sighed. "I figured you would have a plan. I know we didn't talk about it much. Were we trying to push it away? By not talking about it? That was dumb, wasn't it? Damn."

Mickey was watching him, his head tilted sideways.

"I guess in my mind I hoped you had applied to somewhere sort of close by," Ian admitted. "But, um, I guess not.."

"I should have," Mickey muttered.

"It's not your fault," Ian told him. "You had a lot going on, we didn't know what—what _this_ was, not for a long time."

They were both silent then, the trees still rustling loudly and the soft breeze casting small goose bumps all along their skin.

"So, what now?" Mickey whispered, finally.

Ian took a deep breath and told him exactly what he was thinking. "Maybe we should.." He took another inhale, then exhaled slowly. "Maybe we should just—just break up."

* * *

"What?"

"I said—"

"I heard what you said!" Mickey said, a little hysterically. He was done being calm, this was serious. "Are you kidding me?"

Mickey watched through wide eyes as Ian shook his head, slowly.

"No," he said. "No, I think it's for the best."

Mickey couldn't think straight. He hated when he was having a heated conversation and his mind became a muddle. Not that this was really a heated conversation, but Mickey was too flustered to be capable of composing his thoughts in his head.

"I don't get it," he said, truthfully. "I thought we were okay. More than okay, actually."

"Do you know how hard it's going to be to just—just break away when the time comes?" Ian asked, blue eyes boring into Mickey. "If we spend every day for the rest of the time we're at school together, then we're going to have a hard time saying goodbye. At least if we do it this way, we'll be used to not being together, we'll get through it easier."

"So..." Mickey trailed off, shaking his head. "So, you don't even want to _try_ and stay together?"

"It's not that I don't want to, Mick—"

"It certainly seems that way, Ian," Mickey told him, heart beat racing far too quickly.

"Mickey," Ian groaned. "I just don't want you to think you have to sit around waiting for me, while I'm there and you're here."

Mickey couldn't really fathom Ian's thought process. "Oh," he said, then. "Is this about you wanting someone better than me? Because if it is, yeah, I get it. I don't like it, obviously, but I do get it, because I've been nothing but trouble since the start of this."

"Mickey, stop—"

"Why?" Mickey asked, voice breaking a little. God, he was not going to cry, not now. "Explain it to me. Properly. Don't leave me without an explanation."

"Look," Ian said, after a long pause. "This is not about me wanting someone better than you. There _isn't_ anyone better than you, Mickey, at least not for me. But I can't be there, knowing you're here feeling obligated to wait for me to come back so we can be together. You don't deserve that."

"Keep going."

Ian sighed, tiredly. "I just think now is a good time to do it, before it's too late."

"Before it's too late?" Mickey asked, voice raising a little.

"Mickey, don't—"

" _I love you,_ " Mickey stressed. "You don't think it's already too late?"

"You'll get over me—" Mickey snorted and Ian sighed, yet again. "Do you think I want this, Mickey?"

Mickey only shrugged. He was stubborn sometimes.

"I don't want this," Ian clarified. "I want us, I do, but.."

"You told me you weren't breaking up with me," Mickey pointed out, which was probably a childish thing to do, but he was in no mood for being mature right now.

"That was because I thought we could work something out," Ian told him. "But you didn't apply anywhere. I just.. I wasn't expecting that."

"I've given everything up for you."

"No," Ian said, adamantly. "No, you haven't. Don't pull that one on me, Mickey Milkovich. If I had never come into your life, you would still find yourself having to hide who you are. I didn't make you gay, you were already gay and maybe, had I not shown up, maybe it would have taken you longer to realise, but no. You're not guilt tripping me with this one."

"I didn't mean to," Mickey said, quietly. He hadn't meant to accuse him of that, he had just gotten so frustrated and scared, that words had spilled from his mouth before he could think the better of it. "I just.. I don't want to lose you." Mickey paused, then breathed in for a long time. His chest felt tight.

"I'm sorry."

"I love you."

"I know you do," Ian nodded.

"I kind of hate you right now, too."

A moment of silence passed.

"Do you?" Ian asked, timidly.

"No," Mickey shook his head. "I couldn't ever hate you. I don't even know why I said that. I'm just—I'm mad, Ian. I'm mad that you think this is going to be easy for me, for either of us, because even though I know the whole love thing is sort of one-sided, I do know that you still care about me. Sometimes I wake up next to you and I catch you just staring at me and even though you don't ever say you love me back, I figure that it's enough, that having you look at me like that means more than three measly little words that get thrown around like they mean nothing every day all over this stupid world."

"You're not really making this any easier," Ian chuckled, but his heart wasn't in it.

"Good," Mickey pouted. He knew it was ridiculous and immature, but he just could not bring himself to care.

"I told you before that no matter the circumstances between me and you, that I would still be there for you, as a—a friend, someone you can come to whenever you need to. I meant that."

"Yeah, well, you can keep your friendship."

Ian was frowning at him, he could feel it.

"Sorry," Mickey uttered. "I didn't mean that."

"Yes," Ian said. "You did mean that and I guess I can't blame you."

"Whatever," Mickey said, quietly.

A long time passed without either of them speaking. Mickey had a headache. He wished he could just sleep and then maybe when he woke up, it would all have been a dream.

"So, I, uh, heard you've got a big game this weekend," Ian said.

Mickey only nodded.

"I also heard you have an important practice at the same time we have practice for regionals."

Mickey nodded again.

"Do you know what you're going to do?"

Mickey raised his eyes to Ian's then and he fell apart when he looked into those cyan seas. "Actually, I had no idea up to an hour, or so ago," Mickey told him, jaw clenched. "But you've made my choice a lot easier. Football, here I come."

"You're choosing football because I had to put an end to our relationship?"

"I only ever joined glee for you," Mickey admitted. "I wanted to be close to you. I don't get to be close to you any more, so screw glee club. I'm done."

"You joined glee club because of me?"

"Don't act like you didn't already know that, Ian," Mickey said and he was too tired to keep up his angered glare. He was just so tired.

"Maybe it started out like that," Ian said. "But I know how much you like being in glee. You smile in glee, Mickey."

"I smile when I'm with you, too," Mickey shot back. "But we don't always get to be everywhere we want, do we?"

Mickey stood up then and brushed his thighs down. He began walking away, Ian watching him.

"Mickey."

He turned back to look as Ian climbed to his feet. He held out a hand and Mickey looked down to see the bracelet he had given Ian on his birthday in a pool of silver in the centre of his palm.

"I can't keep it," Ian choked out. "I wouldn't be able to—Well. I just wouldn't be able."

Mickey took it from him, then looked up to meet his shining blue eyes. Mickey held up his wrist, his own bracelet hanging there. "Do you want this back?"

"No," Ian said. "No, never."

Mickey looked at him and he could see this was hurting him as much as it hurt Mickey, himself. He thought about putting his arms around him, kissing him once more, telling him it would be okay, but he didn't, because having Ian in his arms and against his lips would only make letting go harder.

And as for saying it would be okay, he couldn't, because he honestly couldn't predict a time when it would be.

* * *

"Quinn Fabray is pregnant."

Ian looked up quickly at Mercedes. "Um, what?"

"Quinn," Mercedes repeated. "She's pregnant."

"How do you know?" Ian asked, carefully, closing his locker door.

"She was sick in history this morning and she kept refusing to go see the nurse, until Mrs Brown insisted on escorting her and someone was in the waiting room while Quinn got checked over and heard the whole thing and now everyone knows," Mercedes told him. "I—I'm really sorry, Ian. I know you and Mickey were sort of..."

"You're just assuming it's Mickey's?" Ian asked, before he could stop the words from spilling out of his mouth. "I mean, it could be anyone's, right? I mean, you know Quinn."

"Ian," Mercedes said, pity in her eyes. "I know you want it to be someone else's, but you've got to face facts. Mickey Milkovich is the father of that baby, whether you like it or not."

Ian almost told her. he opened his mouth, then closed it again. This was not his secret to reveal.

"Yeah," he said, finally. "Yeah, you're right."

* * *

"Have you seen your girlfriend?"

Mickey looked up and saw Iggy standing there, eye still black from the pinch he had given him. "Um, no."

"Did you know?"

"Did I know what?" Mickey asked, slowly. "You and I are no longer friends, why are you talking to me?"

Iggy sat down on the bench in the boy's changing rooms. "Quinn's pregnant."

Mickey stopped still. If Quinn's secret was out, that meant Mickey's secret wouldn't be kept a secret for much longer. "Oh."

"Oh?" Iggy said, quickly. " _Oh?_ Dude, she's pregnant!"

"I heard you the first time."

"So, what are you going to do about it?" Iggy asked, eyes wide.

"Um, nothing."

"Why don't you cut the crap, Milkovich?" Iggy snapped. "Why don't you drop the _gay_ club and the _gay_ English partner and the _gay_ way you've been lately and go take care of your girlfriend?"

Mickey wanted to hit him again, because he was behaving like this, when Mickey knew about him and Quinn. "Iggyerman, stay out of my life," Mickey said, mentally counting to ten to calm himself down.

"You're such an asshole, Mickey!" Iggy groaned. "You've got the hottest girl in school and you're ruining your rep. by hanging out with glee club losers! Your new friends are geeks, Milkovich! Can't you see that? Or are you just turning into one of them and you can't tell the difference any more?"

Mickey had had enough.

"Actually, Iggy, they're better friends to me than you, or any of the guys have ever been," Mickey informed him. "For one, none of them have been sleeping with my girlfriend."

Iggy stopped still and simply stared at Mickey.

"Yeah, I know," Mickey nodded. "I'm not stupid, Iggy. You think I don't know why you joined glee? You think I don't know that you were keeping an eye on her? I do know, Iggy. So maybe instead of meeting Sandy Ryerson under the bleachers for drugs and pumping yourself with alcohol every single night, you should go talk to Quinn about her being pregnant, because it has _nothing to do with me_." Mickey took a deep breath, then exhaled for a long time. "You know what else? Screw this championship game. Since you think I'm turning into too much of a 'geek', there's no way I could lead the team to a victory. So good luck without me."

* * *

Mickey wouldn't even look in his direction. Ian had been surprised when he had come to the regionals rehearsal and seen Mickey there, practicing dance moves with Mike Chang. Mickey had glanced up at him when he had first entered the room, but had looked quickly away. He hadn't looked at him since.

Everyone was there, except for Iggy and Quinn, for obvious reasons. Half way through rehearsal, Mr Schuester went to the library to look for a song book. He told the kids to take a five minute break and that he would be right back.

"I just can't get that stupid move," Mercedes said, sitting down between Ian and Rachel.

"It's actually very easy, Mercedes," Rachel said. "If you use your left foot to push you upwards, it makes things a whole lot easier. I'll show you once Mr Schuester gets back."

Ian drifted off into his own thoughts as Rachel and Mercedes discussed the dance moves. He had them down already, he didn't need to listen, anyway. Mickey was still trying to pick up a move from Mike, but kept on leaving a step out. Everyone else was chatting quietly and laughing and drinking water.

Ian looked up then when he heard a loud voice over by the door.

"Hey, Milkovich!"

Mickey turned around to look at Iggy, as he walked through the door, followed by what appeared to be the rest of the football team. Everyone was looking at them now.

"Excuse me, Noah," Rachel said, standing up and placing her hands on her narrow plaid-covered hips. "You chose to go to your silly practice, so please leave."

Iggyerman ignored her and a couple of the other players laughed from where they stood by the door. Iggy walked closer to Mickey.

"You seriously came to gay club? Again?"

"Did I not make it clear that I wasn't going to football?" Mickey snapped back.

"Is this over Quinn?" Iggy asked. "Is that what this is about?"

A few people exchanged confused looks, but Ian just watched.

"Hardly," Mickey rolled his blue eyes. "This is about me being tired of your crap."

Iggy shoved Mickey forward and then Mickey was shoving him back and Ian almost stood up, but Finn had moved forward and pulled Mickey back.

"He's not worth it, dude," Finn told Mickey.

"You're right," Mickey spat out. "He's not."

"I'm worth more than you, Milkovich."

Mickey looked back at him, eyes narrowed. "I doubt that."

"Well," Iggy said, with a sneer. "You couldn't even keep your girlfriend satisfied, so I had to do it for you. Yeah, that's right, everyone. Baby Iggy, not Milkovich."

An echo of gasps and low whispers filled the room. Some of the footballers' jaws had dropped and they were looking at each other in surprise.

"It disturbs me that you think the fact that I am not going to be a teenage father would disappoint me," Mickey told him.

"You'd bail on her even if it was your kid, Milkovich," Iggy said, angrily. "Don't lie. You've been bailing on all of us since the start of the year. You turned into this—this fucking _fag_ that sings and dances with another group of fags and you expect a girl like Quinn Fabray to stay with you?"

"You're not grasping the concept here, Iggy," Mickey said. "I don't _care_ about Quinn, I never have. We _despise_ one another, _we always have_."

Iggy was staring at him, confusedly. "You were the best friend I had, Milkovich. We were always alike, I thought you were cool, you know? But actually you're not. You're an asshole and I don't get how you managed to stay on top. I don't know how you're on top, now—Oh, of course, unless you're _on top_ in another way, which maybe I could believe. You're acting weird enough, how should I know what you're doing—or who you're doing—in your spare time?"

Ian could see it in Iggy's eyes, in his body language that he didn't actually believe Mickey was gay, he was just saying these things to get to him, to show him up in front of everyone else. Ian turned his gaze to Mickey, who just looked as if he might blow his top. He was clenching his fists and they had turned white and he was grinding down on his teeth and his dark brows were knit tightly in the centre of his head.

And that was when Ian knew, he knew what was coming next and he couldn't even stand up to stop him, because Mickey had reached that point they had talked about. He had reached the edge and instead of allowing himself to tip over, he had to pull himself up and come clean.

"Actually," Mickey said, looking around the room, briefly, then resting his eyes back on Iggy. "We were never alike, Iggy. We have nothing in common. In face," Mickey said, looking across at the other footballers. "I have nothing in common with any of you—Well." Ian saw Mickey's eyes lingering on Karofsky for a split second. "Maybe one of you, but that's where the similarities stop. The thing is, Iggy, you think you're always right and most of the time, you're not. This time on the other hand, you're half right, so congratulations for that."

The whole class was silent now, as Mickey walked down the front of the room where everyone could see him. He raised his head and looked around, then opened his mouth to speak.

"I'm tired of pretending to be someone I'm not," Mickey said, firmly. "So, I have a confession to make."


	27. Chapter 27

**Chapter 27:**

Mickey was ignoring Ian, who was shooting him looks from his seat, looks which seemed to question Mickey's sanity. Mickey's heart was hammering in his chest and his throat was dry, but he was done. He was so fed up with the pretences and with being afraid and with _everything._ Nothing mattered any more, he may as well just let it all out.

Mickey met Ian's eyes briefly. Ian gave him a small nod, which Mickey translated as _are you sure?_ Mickey blinked once. _Yes._ He tore his eyes from Ian's blue orbs and looked around the room, looking at everyone rather than anyone in particular.

"There have been a lot of rumours going around about me lately," Mickey spoke up. He could hardly hear himself over the fast paced beat of his heart. "And actually, most of them are true."

He saw everyone exchanging glances with one another, everyone but Ian and Mercedes, who simply stared straight ahead.

"If you're wondering which ones," Mickey went on. "The one about Quinn not having my baby is true, as we just learned." Mickey glanced over at Iggy, who was just watching him, eyes wide. "Also, yeah. I kind of love glee club. Playing football bores me to death. Let's see, what else?" Mickey paused. "Oh, right. The big one. The one that my good friend David Karofsky spread around."

Mickey saw Ian's eyes flash. He knew he was thinking Mickey was about to out Karofsky as well as himself, but Mickey wasn't going to do that, he simply wanted to alarm Dave.

"If you don't know what I mean by 'the big one', I'll break that down for you," Mickey said. He wasn't sure where he was getting his courage from. Maybe he was just too tired of being a coward, of hiding in the shadows. It was time to come out. Literally. "David has been saying that I'm gay, right Dave?" Karofsky looked away quickly. "So, yeah. I am. I'm gay," Mickey emitted. " _I'm gay._ "

Eyes widened and jaws dropped all over the room. Mickey saw Ian exhaling, shoulders slumping a little.

"The other half of Dave's rumour," Mickey said, carefully. "Was that I was sleeping with Ian, there."

All eyes went to Ian and Ian simply blinked, his blue gaze locked on Mickey.

"Partially true," Mickey confirmed. "I say 'partially', because I wasn't just sleeping with Ian. I'm through lying, so I may as well just go ahead and tell you everything. Ian made me do something I didn't ever think I would do. He made me love him. He made me love him and he made me realise I hated myself, because I did. I hate who I was before I met Ian. I hate that I made all your lives a misery." He looked towards the glee club. "I hate that I went along with all of you and your stupidity." He looked across at the football team. "I hate that I was living a lie, that I was pretending I was someone else, just to conform to what you all thought I was supposed to be."

Nobody said a word, just watched him with stunned expressions.

"So, Ian made me realise who I really am and I fell in love with him in the process," Mickey continued. "He's the only one who has been here for me no matter what, even though you guys were supposed to be my friends. I don't really have Ian any more. I don't have friends. I've literally got nothing right now. So, whatever. Now you know."

Mickey took a long inhale, then exhaled slowly. "To re-cap: I'm gay, gayer than Christmas. I'm gay and I'm through with all of you." His copper eyes fell on Ian, then. "Except you. I'll never be through with you."

Ian opened his mouth, the beginning of Mickey's name on his lips, but he stopped then and simply shook his head.

"I love you," Mickey told him and his voice broke. "You got me here, Ian. You helped me come clean, you're the reason I could do this today. And I thought that at the end of all this, I would at least still have you, which I guess I was wrong about, what with how everything has played out. But still, I owe you for everything. Thank you for what you've done for me. And I love you, I really, really do." Mickey swallowed, a lump forming in his throat. It didn't go away. "So, that's it really. I've said everything I needed to. I know there's still months to go, but I kind of hope I never see any of you ever again once we graduate." His eyes lingered on Ian. He probably wasn't going to see Ian after graduation, he didn't have a choice regarding that. "Well, most of you anyway."

Mickey addressed the glee club, then. "Thank you for accepting me, even though I treated every single one of you like crap for years," he said. "I'm not going to bail on you for regionals, because you don't deserve that, so don't worry."

Rachel gave him a sympathetic nod. He looked over at the footballers, who still looked stunned. "Thanks for helping me become something I hated. I'm not going to be at the game on Saturday. For one, I hate playing football. Sure, I'm better than all of you, which wouldn't be hard, but I'm still not going to go, because you don't deserve it. The majority of you are homophobic, which is pretty funny when I look at some of you." Mickey shot Karofsky a brief glance. "If you expect me, as a gay guy, to help you, as homophobes, win a game, you're nuts. And even without that, you're all assholes and I'm not going to waste my time being around you any more."

Mickey took a deep inhale of breath, then looked at Ian again. "Thank you for helping me find my heart, for putting it back together and for breaking it again. It's stupid, because I want to hate you, but I can't. I love you more than I ever have. I doubt I'll ever stop."

Mickey cleared his throat, glanced around the room once more, then turned away and walked towards the door, just as Mr Schuester walked inside. He stopped still, face contorting with confusion.

"What's going on?" he asked, looking around the room. "Why is the football team here? Mickey? Are you okay?"

Mickey shook his head. "I'm sorry, Mr Schuester," he uttered, then continued on out the door and down the halls and then out into the parking lot. He got in his car, heart aching painfully in his chest, a bitter sweet taste left on his tongue.

He let out a breath he hadn't realised he had been holding and started the car. He drove out of the school grounds and out on to the road and didn't stop until the first warm, salty tear trickled from his eye, followed by a torrent of more.

Mickey cried until he had no more tears left in him, his entire body convulsing with dry, tearless sobs. His head was throbbing and his heart was racing and he closed his eyes because there was nothing left to do.

* * *

 **To: Mickey at 5.01 P.M.**

 _Where are you?_

 **To: Mickey at 5.05 P.M.**

 _Mickey, where are you?_

 **To: Mickey at 5.08 P.M.**

 _You need someone right now. Tell me where you are._

 **To: Mickey at 5.11 P.M.**

 _Yeah, okay, Mickey, the silent treatment, that's real mature._

 **To: Mickey at 5.14 P.M.**

 _Fine, I'll be at your house in ten minutes. Bye._

 **To: Ian at 5.15 P.M.**

 _I'm not at my house, I'm at the field._

* * *

"Hi."

Mickey didn't say a word, only blinked once up at the sky. Ian nodded slowly, then went and sat down gingerly in the grass near him.

"Are you okay?"

Mickey raised an eyebrow, as if to say _what do you think?_ Which, Ian guessed, he had a point.

"Do you think you were ready?" Ian asked. "I know you weren't planning it, but was it the wrong time? Are you sorry you did it?"

"No," Mickey said, breaking his silence. "No, it was time. It felt right."

"Good," Ian said, relieved. "I was worried."

"Were you," Mickey said and he didn't make it a question.

Ian sighed, silently. "Breaking up with you didn't mean I was going to stop caring, Mickey."

Mickey snorted.

"Oh, shut up, Mickey, _you know_ I care," Ian rolled his eyes. He eyed Mickey for a little while, then lay back next to him. Mickey leaned up a bit and looked down at him, brows furrowed.

"You're lying in the grass," Mickey said, stating the obvious. "Aren't you scared you'll get your clothes dirty?"

"I'm making an exception."

"An exception?" Mickey asked. "What for?"

"For you, Mickey," Ian said, cringing at the fact that there was probably bugs beneath him. "You just—you just did what you did and you need someone, so I'm going to lay here with you."

Mickey lay back and sighed. "Why are you making this harder?" he asked, quietly. Ian didn't say anything. He didn't want to make it harder. "By being here with me, you're making it harder."

"Do you want me to leave?" Ian asked, sitting up a bit.

"No," Mickey said, tugging him back down. "No, don't leave me."

Ian sat back and couldn't shake the feeling that Mickey wasn't just asking him not to leave the field. He didn't say anything about it, just sighed and watched the grey clouds drifting across the sombre sky.

"You can talk to me," Ian said, after a while.

Mickey was silent and Ian didn't think he was going to say anything else, but he did.

"I don't know what's going to happen now," Mickey uttered. "I don't know what I'm going to do, or say. I don't know if I'm happy, or sad. I don't know anything."

"Do you think he knows already?"

"It's been over an hour," Mickey pointed out. "He knows. I switched off my phone after I texted you back. I don't want to talk to him yet."

Ian nodded. He couldn't get rid of the feeling of dread swimming around in the pit of his stomach. After Mickey had walked out of the choir room, all Ian could think about was Mickey's dad and what he might do to him once he found out what had happened.

Ian heard Mickey sniffling a little bit. He sat up and looked down at him, studying him properly for the first time since he had arrived at their field. His eyes looked puffy and dilated. His lips were redder than they should have been and he looked tired.

"Have you been crying?" Ian asked, softly.

"No."

"I thought you were done with lies," Ian pointed out.

"I am," Mickey sighed. "Okay, fine. I cried. Are you happy?"

"You think I should be happy that you cried?"

Mickey only shrugged.

"Mickey," Ian said, simply.

"What?" Mickey asked. "What do you want me to do? Should I pretend it's fine that you're cutting me into pieces every time I look at you? Should I just smile and act like I'm okay with you dumping me after you said you wouldn't? I thought I would have you when I did this, when I finally got up the courage to tell them who I am, but I don't. I mean, you're here, but you're not _here,_ Ian. You're standing in front of me, but you're not really here, where I need you to be. It's not the same."

Ian opened his mouth to speak, but Mickey went on.

"Don't you get that I love you? That I just want to be with you? That I have nothing else in the fucking world to hold on to?" A small sob escaped Mickey's throat as he sat up to face Ian. Ian saw a single tears falling from his eye. "I have nothing left. I have no future, no real family that gives a damn and I don't have you," Mickey informed him. "I have to go home and face a raving lunatic and tell him that the things he's heard about me are true and maybe I wouldn't care as much if I still had someone that made me feel like i was worth anything. I don't know what's going to happen, Ian. I'm going to have to just take whatever he gives me, because I can't fight back and I can't just walk out of there. For one, I have nowhere to go and secondly, I can't leave my mom. _I have nothing, Ian._ I have nothing and my heart's in pieces and I'm just _giving up_. I don't have any other choice. It's over."

Ian watched as Mickey buried his face in his hands and cried, his body convulsing with uncontrollable sobs. Ian moved forward and did the only thing he could think to do: He tried to encircle him with his arms, but Mickey pulled back.

"No," he choked out. "No, you don't get to touch me and then let me go and walk away like I mean nothing to you. Don't. Don't touch me."

Ian sighed and went closer anyway. Mickey's eyes seemed to question him.

"Shut up and let me hold you, Mickey," Ian whispered, taking Mickey in his arms. Mickey's face twisted and more tears came and his body began to rock in Ian's embrace. "You could never mean nothing to me," Ian said into his hair. "Not ever."

Mickey gave in, his cries getting louder, his entire body shaking violently. Ian tried to keep him steady, to hold him together, but all he wanted to do was cry with him, cry because he was scared of what this would mean for Mickey, cry because he wanted more than anything to keep him safe, cry because he loved the boy in his arms more than anything else in the world and he couldn't tell him, couldn't have him, couldn't take him by the hand and pull him out of this field and take him to a whole other world where nothing could touch them.

Ian didn't cry, because he wanted to be strong for him, but he felt his heart contract, because he wasn't ready to let him go. He never would be.

* * *

"Come stay at my house tonight," Ian said, stroking Mickey's knuckles with his thumb.

"I—I can't."

"Yes, you can," Ian told him. "You're not ready to face him, so you don't have to. That doesn't make you a coward, Mickey, that just makes you human."

Mickey shook his head. "No," he said. "No, I know I don't have to face him if I'm not ready. I just can't be with you if—if.."

"Oh," Ian said, quietly. "I know we're not—not how we used to be, but I don't want you to go out and get yourself into trouble. I want to know you're safe."

" _Why?_ " Mickey asked, looking as if he didn't understand.

"Why?" Ian repeated. "That's a ridiculous question, Mickey."

"I don't think it is," Mickey murmured, stubbornly.

"What would you do if the roles were reversed?" Ian asked. "Would you go home and leave me out here, when it's clearly going to rain?" Ian gestured up at the harrowing sky, threatening to cry a torrent of cold, angry tears.

"No," Mickey said, quietly. "But I also wouldn't have broken up with you. I would have tried to keep what we had, because, Ian, when something's important to you, you try to hold on to it, no matter what it takes. Clearly, I'm not important enough to you."

"You can't see where I'm coming from at all?" Ian asked. "Mickey, you _are_ important to me. You mean the world to me, I just can't spend every day until I leave with you, because I don't know how I'll say goodbye once the time comes. Maybe it's selfish, maybe it's cowardly, but it's the only thing I can think to do right now."

"I do see your side of it, you know," Mickey told him. "I just don't know how you think doing it this way makes it any easier that you're going to disappear out of my life at the end of it all. Whether we're together, or not, this isn't making anything easier, Ian. I'm hurting. I'm breaking now, Ian. I'll be breaking later. I'll be breaking for the rest of my life. I don't care when it happens, I'm still going to be broken, so why shouldn't I get to love you for as long as you're here?"

Ian frowned, because Mickey had a point. He just wasn't sure. He didn't know how he would handle it. He needed time.

"I'm not sure, Mickey, at least not yet."

Mickey sighed, then nodded. "Okay," he said, tiredly. "Fine."

"So, will you please come home with me?" Ian pleaded. "Please?"

Mickey looked sceptical for a couple of heart beats, then he nodded. "Okay," he said. "Okay, if it'll make you happy."

"I don't know about happy," Ian told him. "But at least I'll know you're safe."

* * *

"I thought you two broke up," Frank told Ian, once Mickey had gone down to his room and switched on the TV. Ian had left him there to go get drinks and food.

"We did," Ian nodded. "But he kind of, um, came out in front of the entire glee club and football team and he can't go home. He had nowhere to go and I just thought—I just don't want him to be out on the streets all night, dad."

Frank nodded, understanding. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah, let him stay."

"Thanks, dad."

"D'you think he'll be okay?" Frank enquired.

"Probably not for a while," Ian said, truthfully. "But at least he'll be safe tonight, right?"

Frank only nodded.

* * *

"I hate this movie," Mickey groaned, covering his head with a pillow.

Ian smiled a bit. "Why did you pick it, then?" he asked.

"Because I feel like hating things today."

Ian frowned and sat back with a sigh.

"I didn't mean you," Mickey's muffled voice said from behind the pillow. His fingers crept across and entwined themselves in Ian's. "I could never hate you."

* * *

"Is every—oh. He's asleep," Frank said, lowering his voice.

Ian sat up a bit and paused the TV. "Yeah, he's been out for a while."

Frank nodded. "I'm going to bed, Ian," he said, with a yawn. "Will you.. You'll.."

"I get it, dad," Ian told Frank. "Nothing's going to happen."

"Okay," Frank said. "Good night, Ian." He looked down at Mickey, then, face softening. "'Night, Mickey."

Mickey didn't stir.

* * *

His mouth tasted as if he had eaten stake bread. He sat up, groggily and looked around the room, remembering where he was.

"Hey," Ian said, beside him.

Mickey turned and looked at him, then settled back against the headboard. He reached across to the can of coke on the bedside table and took a swig. It burned his throat and he coughed a bit, then sat back again, his head throbbing, like something was pressing down on top of his skull.

"We should go get drunk," he told Ian.

"No," Ian said. "We shouldn't. You can't drown out every sorrow with alcohol, Mickey."

"I can try."

"Mickey," Ian said, in a warning tone.

"Fine," Mickey sighed. "Break my heart _and_ ruin my fun."

Mickey wished he could retract that comment the second it left his lips, but he was too tired to explain himself, so he just sat there, scowling.

"I never wanted to break your heart, Mickey."

"Yeah, it seems like it," Mickey said, not without sarcasm.

He didn't want to hurt Ian, but he was still mad about everything. His life had turned upside down in the space of a few days. He didn't know what to do any more.

"Look at me and tell me you believe this isn't hard for me, too."

Mickey turned his head and looked up into Ian's sad, blue eyes, at his down turned mouth, at his drawn, pale face, and sighed. "Okay," he said. "I know you're hurting, too, I get it. I just don't see why it has to be like this."

"I told you."

"Yeah, I know," Mickey nodded. "I still don't get it. Your logic sucks, Ian."

"What do you want from me, Mickey?"

"I want you to give us a chance," Mickey apprised him. "I want you to be as brave as I know you are and give us a chance at making something out of this, because I don't know if you heard me the first thousand and one times, but I actually love you, Ian. I love you and I can't just let you slip away without a fight, even if you can."

"You think this is easy for me, Mickey?" Ian asked. "You think that seeing you broken doesn't break me, too? Do you think I like the idea of spending the rest of forever without you?"

"You're willing to spend the rest of forever never knowing what could have been," Mickey pointed out.

He saw Ian's shoulders drop and he sat back, looking drained. Mickey wanted to go to him, hold him, kiss him, tell him he loved him, do whatever the hell it would take to get him back.

"You're miserable without me," Mickey stated. "I'm miserable without you. What's the logical thing to do here, Ian?"

Ian was silent for a little while, then said, "I know." Mickey watched him, intently. "I know, you're right, but I'm—I'm afraid, Mickey."

"So take a chance on me," Mickey sat up and took Ian's hands in his own. "Take a chance, Ian. If it doesn't work out, okay, at least we'll have tried. At least we'll know."

Ian tilted his head sideways and exhaled. "I want to, it's just.."

Mickey nodded, understanding. "I know," he said, softly. "Sometimes taking a risk feels good, Ian. I was terrified about coming out, but in the end, it was the right thing to do."

"I know," Ian smiled a bit. "I was so proud of you for what you did today. I mean, i know you were hurting and I was hurting, too, but God, that was so amazing, everything you said, you—you're so strong, Mickey."

"Hmm," Mickey laughed, half-heartedly. "I wish."

"You are," Ian urged. "You're stronger than you know."

"You're strong, too, Ian," Mickey pointed out. "If we're both strong in this, then we'll make it. We can do it. At least give us a chance. If you walk away now, we'll never know what might have happened. We'll never know. We'll never have another day just doing nothing out in the field. We'll never sit in the corner of the library making fun of the librarian's shoes. We'll never have another one of those kisses that make me feel like I can't breathe, like I'm on this rollercoaster that might just kill me, but I can't get off, because I'm addicted, because I can't get enough, because I would die rather than never do it again. We'll never have any of that and I can't bear that, Ian. I can't bear the idea of never having another day just _being_ with you."

Ian breathed out, shakily, as Mickey moved closer.

"Take me back," he whispered. "Take my hand, take my heart, take everything. Take me back, Ian. Take me back and just let's see what happens. Take a chance on me. Take me back."

Ian's eyes were gleaming now. He was taking long, drawn-out breaths and then exhaling in stutters.

"Please, Ian," Mickey said, in a hushed tone. "Give me a chance. Take all of me, because regardless of what you decide, I'm yours. I'm always yours."

"I—Mickey," Ian uttered, as Mickey's lips came down over his own.

Mickey placed a chaste kiss to his lips and Ian seemed to melt into him.

"Please," Mickey whispered, surprised at the yearning in his own voice. "Please tell me, Ian. I need to know."

"Yes," Ian said, almost instantly "Yes, okay, yes. Let's try, let's just—yeah. I can't be without you."

"Really?" Mickey asked, breath hitching in is chest.

"Really," Ian nodded, smiling. "Time to be brave, right?"

"Yes," Mickey chuckled and pressed another kiss to Ian's mouth. "Yeah, time to be brave. I love you."

"I know," Ian told him. "I love you, too."

Mickey froze, his heart stilling in his chest. "Do you?"

"Of course, I do," Ian told him. "I've loved you far longer than you've loved me."

"You scared the crap out of me," Mickey smiled, dropping himself down over Ian's body. "You never said it back and you scared the crap out me, made me think you didn't love me."

"I was scared of giving you all of me," Ian told him. "But since we're being brave.."

"Say it again."

"I love you," Ian smiled.

Mickey lowered his mouth to Ian's pale neck. "Again."

"I love you."

Mickey dipped his mouth down to meet the pulse in Ian's neck and he sucked the skin into his mouth. "And again."

"I love you," Ian repeated and he reached down and pulled Mickey back up and caught his mouth with his. "I love you, Mickey."


	28. Chapter 28

**Chapter 28:**

Mickey blinked himself awake, the light bright and a little too much for his eyes to take. He allowed his eyes to get used to the intense glow, before taking in his surroundings, the frightening reality of everything that had happened the previous day hitting him hard.

Mickey swallowed hard and turned his head to the side to look at Ian, whose lips were parted, his eyes closed, soft snoring sounds drifting from his mouth. Mickey found himself smiling. It had been the first time they had slept together without actually _sleeping together._ Their clothes were still intact and it felt good, just to be there with Ian, just to have him back in his arms.

Mickey leaned across and flung his arms around Ian, pulling him close and Ian sprang upwards.

"What the—Oh," Ian stopped, eyebrows dropping. "Sorry, I forgot you were there—No. I didn't forget you were there, you just sort of—surprised me."

"Sorry," Mickey told him and tugged gently on his arm, urging him to lay back down. "I just remembered that you love me and I couldn't help myself."

Ian dropped back down to lay on his side, propping himself up on one elbow. He smiled at Mickey and Mickey's heart stilled, then sped up.

"I'm so in love with you," Mickey told Ian, without thinking.

"'Makes two of us," Ian said, smile growing.

"You're so in love with you, too?" Mickey teased.

"Is this your way of making me say it?" Ian asked, one eyebrow lifting.

Mickey didn't say anything, just watched him with amused eyes.

"Fine," Ian smirked. "I'm sort of so in love with you, too. Like, so in love with you that I can't even get my head around it."

Mickey smiled, crookedly. "You're sure you're not just trying to get into my pants?"

"You're nervous about going to school," Ian said. "I know because you turned that into sex."

"Maybe," Mickey admitted, falling back into the pillows with a sigh. Mickey shut his eyes, his head spinning. He wished he didn't have to do this.

Mickey felt Ian shifting next to him, then opened his eyes and found him hovering above him, smiling. "I'll be there, you know," Ian told him. "I'll be there with you and you'll get through it, I promise. You'll see."

"Thank you," Mickey uttered, reaching up to pull Ian down, so that their bodies were flush against each other. "There's still my dad, though."

"I'll come with you," Ian told him, entwining his arms around Mickey's neck. "If you want me there, I'll come with you."

Mickey sighed and curled his arms around Ian's slender waist. "No," he said. "No, bad idea. I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm grateful. It means a lot to me that you would be willing to do that, but.." Mickey trailed off and shook his head. "You don't know what he's like, what he's capable of. I don't even know what he's capable of. I need to do this by myself."

"Okay," Ian frowned, slightly. "God, you had better be okay."

Mickey didn't assure him that he would be. He simply exhaled, then pulled Ian's mouth down to meet his own, because sometimes, Ian made him forget and all he wanted to do was forget.

* * *

Blank stares, low whispers, judgmental eyes, unenviable silence, familiar white noise filling his mind, his ears, his head. He felt sick, sick for Mickey, for himself, for every other human being who had ever had to endure this and would have to endure it in the future. The world seemed to tilt in slow motion as they walked the halls in silence, side by side. Ian's legs felt heavy, as if he couldn't move any faster, as if he was walking in a humid climate, the hot air pulling him back, holding him down until he couldn't escape its clutches.

He glanced sideways at Mickey, who looked back at him. Ian couldn't read his expression, it was far too difficult, the world a blur, yet so easy to see at the same time. Ian could see the cluster of red letterman jackets standing by the lockers as they advanced down the halls. He heard Mickey take a deep breath, then exhale slowly and then Ian almost stopped still.

Mickey's warm fingers found his own and curled themselves around them.

"What are you—Are you crazy?" Ian asked, quietly. "Mickey, we're moving targets."

"Screw them," Mickey said. He nodded towards one of the football players kissing his girlfriend to their left. "If they can do it," he said, then nodded to the other side, at Rachel and Finn holding hands, "And they can do it," Mickey went on. "I don't see why we can't do it, too."

"You know exactly why," Ian muttered, but made no move to unlatch his fingers from Mickey's.

"Pull away if you can't do it," Mickey said.

"No, you're right," Ian said, tightening his grip. "We have as much of a right as the rest of them, right?"

"Totally," Mickey smiled, lifted his head and they strode by the footballers, smiling, leaving them to gape after them.

"Faggots!" someone called after them.

Ian felt Mickey's arm curling around his waist as they reached the end of the hall.

"Do you have a death wish?" Ian smiled, glancing at Mickey out of the corner of his eye.

"No, quite the opposite, actually," Mickey informed him. "This is my life and if I want to walk down the hallway holding my boyfriend's hand, I'm going to walk down the hallway holding my boyfriend's hand."

"You make a valid argument," Ian grinned.

"Absolutely," Mickey told him, then smiled. "Besides, we are royalty, after all."

* * *

"Mickey Milkovich."

Mickey turned to see Kenneth Iggyerman coming towards him. Mickey rolled his hazel eyes and sighed. He guessed an encounter with Kenny was inevitable.

"I see you're not wearing the jacket any more," Kenny pointed out. Mickey nodded. He had taken it off after having arrived at the field and he had no intentions of putting it back on. He was done with the football team, done with all of them.

"Heard you made quite the confession yesterday," Kenny grinned, once he was within touching distance. "I was devastated when I heard I had missed it."

"Do you want me to repeat it all?" Mickey deadpanned.

"No, I got the gist of it, Milkovich," Kenny shook his head. "I also heard about you and Gallagher. Trouble in paradise?"

"No, we're perfectly fine, thank you," Mickey said. "I didn't know you were that invested in our relationship, but thanks for your concern."

Kenny chuckled a bit.

"How about you?" Mickey smirked. "How goes your blossoming love with David Karofsky?"

Kenny was frowning now, his eyes slitting a little. "It's just sex," he stated. "Which brings me to my proposal."

"You're proposing to Karofsky?" Mickey smiled. "How precious. I would go with a simple, white-gold band, nothing too flashy. He doesn't really seem like the type of guy who's into diamonds, does he?"

"Shut _up_ , Milkovich!" Kenny groaned. "Stop being such an asshole and hear me out."

Mickey rolled his eyes and slammed his locker door shut, then leaned against it, waiting for Kenny to go on.

"So, since things between me and Gallagher didn't work out and since Karofsky fucking sucks," Kenny began. "You and I should totally fuck, or something."

Mickey choked and then burst into laughter. "Are you serious?" Mickey coughed. "Are you—Oh my God, you want to sleep with me? Really?"

"Take it or leave it, Milkovich, I don't have all day."

"I'll leave it," Mickey said, quickly. "Not a chance, Kenny. Not in a million years."

Kenny gave him a half-shrug, then turned on his heel and walked away. Mickey smiled. At least he had gotten a laugh out of today.

* * *

"Mickey, sit with us."

Ian looked up from his lunch and saw that Finn had spoken. He turned around, following Finn's gaze and found himself looking at Mickey, who was sitting a table over, by himself.

"Yeah, Mickey, what the hell?" Ian said. "Get over here."

Mickey wore a stunned expression, his cheeks flushing slightly, now that the entire glee club were watching him, waiting for a response.

"I couldn't. I—"

"Mickey," Tina said. "You're part of this club. Come sit with us."

"Yeah, come on, Mickey," Brittany smiled. "I think I figured out how they get the 'm's on the M & Ms! Look, I'll explain it to you!"

Everyone went silent for a split second, then Santana shook her head. "Come on, elf, get over here. I want to ask you about your diet, because I think you need to drink more milk. Makes you taller."

Mickey smiled, crookedly, then looked across at Ian, who smiled back. Mickey stood up and slid in next to Ian and everyone went back to their own conversations.

"Mickey."

They looked up to see Rachel looking across at Mickey.

"Hey, Rachel," Mickey muttered.

"I want you to know we accept you for who you are and that you were really brave yesterday," she nodded. "I have two gay dads."

"Oh," Mickey said. "Oh, um, thanks. Cool."

Ian rolled his eyes and took a sip of his water. "How's it going?" he asked.

"Uh, okay, I guess," Mickey told him. "Someone spray painted my locker."

Ian looked up at him, questioningly. Mickey nodded. "Neon fucking orange," he shook his head.

"What does it say?" Mercedes asked on the other side of Ian. "Or do I even need to ask?"

"I'll give you three guesses," Mickey smiled, slightly. Ian nodded, knowingly. "In other news," Mickey went on. "Kenny Iggyerman asked me to sleep with him."

Ian choked on his water. Mercedes had to pat him on the back several times, until he caught his breath. Ian cleared his throat. "Did—did he really?"

Mickey nodded. "Yes," he smiled. "Be jealous."

Ian chuckled. "Oh, I am," he joked.

"I say you have a threesome," Santana grinned.

"I've lost my appetite," Ian said, pushing his tray away from him.

Mickey was smiling next to him as he picked at his salad. "On the up side, I haven't heard from Quinn," Mickey said.

"Always a good thing," Ian nodded.

Loud laughter erupted through the room then and everyone looked up and over at the door. Iggy, Karofsky, Azimio and Kenny had entered the canteen and were heading for their usual table. Ian felt Mickey go rigid next to him.

"It's okay," Ian whispered, reaching for Mickey's hand under the table. Mickey nodded and looked back down into his food.

Ian looked up and saw that they had disappeared and were probably seated at their table now, but then he heard footsteps behind him. He twisted his neck around and saw Iggyerman standing there, grinning.

"You giving him a handjob under there, Gallagher?"

Ian rolled his eyes and looked away, then he felt, heard and smelled the spray paint. He turned to see Iggy holding out a small can, dripping with neon-orange paint. He was spraying it on Ian's back. Ian jumped up in protest. Iggy was in hysterics laughing and Mickey stood up and looked at Ian's back.

"It's fine," Ian muttered, even though the paint was probably never going to come out.

Before Ian could turn to look at Mickey, he was across the hall and pushing Iggy hard down against someone's table, food trays falling and milk spilling in the process. The spray paint can hit the floor and Mercedes grabbed it and flung it in the bin.

"Dude," Ian heard Iggy saying.

"Mickey, leave it," Ian said. He didn't want him getting in trouble over this. Ian had had way worse things happen to him in the past.

"I'm tired of you," Mickey growled. "I'm sick and fucking tired of you acting like you're better than everyone. "What do you get out of doing this, _Noah_? Is your life so sad that you have to make yourself feel better by making others feel bad?"

"Milkovich," Iggy choked out as Mickey gripped his shirt hard. " _Mickey._ Dude, let me go."

"I think you owe _my boyfriend_ an apology."

"Mickey, leave it, it's oka—"

"No, Ian," Mickey shouted back. "No, it's not okay. It's not _okay_ that they think they can get away with doing this. We're not going to sit back and accept abuse just because we like guys instead of girls. No, this stops now, Iggyerman."

Mickey raised his arm and was about to punch Iggy, but Ian moved forward and grabbed his elbow. Mickey looked at him, quizzically.

"This won't solve anything," Ian told Mickey. "It's never going to stop, Mickey and punching him isn't going to make a difference. Punching him isn't going to make him stop being homophobic."

Mickey's face fell and Ian gave him a small nod.

"Come on, don't," Ian said. "Homophobia is always going to be there, you just have to be the better person and try not to let it bother you."

Mickey's face contorted a little and he glanced down at Iggy, then back up at Ian.

"Yeah," Mickey said. "Well, I'm tired of being the better person."

Mickey looked back down at Iggy, angrily. "Come near me, or Ian, or any of the glee club again and you and I are both going to regret it, Iggyerman."

Mickey let Iggy go and Iggy scrambled away, muttering something about him being crazy. Ian sighed and pushed Mickey gently back into his seat. He sat next to him.

"You should have let me punch him," Mickey told Ian.

"He's not worth it," Ian said.

Mickey frowned. "How much was _this_ worth?" He reached up and toyed with the collar of Ian's shirt, the back of it covered in neon-orange spray paint.

"Way more than him," Ian smiled, sadly.

"Hey, Mickey," Artie said on the other side of the table. "That was fierce, yo!"

Mickey gave him a smile and then looked back to Ian. "Did you bring extra clothes?"

"Don't I always?" Ian grinned.

"Let's go get you changed and I can get rid of my anger by kissing you until I can't feel my lips."

"You always say the most romantic things."

* * *

"Mickey, the—ungh—Mickey," Ian tried to tilt his head away so that Mickey's lips couldn't reach him, but Mickey was relentless, like a hyper puppy that wanted to play. His hands were taking every inch of Ian's body, his breathing a little laboured. He followed Ian's lips with his own and Ian kept on finding himself giving it and just allowing Mickey a couple more minutes.

Ian sighed as Mickey kissed him frantically, like it was his final day and all he wanted to do was kiss him until his time was up. But Ian didn't want to think about that. He reached up and made a grab for Mickey's hands, which seemed to be exploring various parts of Ian's body over his clothes. Mickey crushed his body to Ian's and Ian tried to speak, but Mickey swallowed his words.

Ian finally took control and turned Mickey around so that he was pressed to the wall instead. Mickey leaned up to catch Ian's mouth with his own again and they kissed briefly and sloppily and then Ian tore his mouth away and held Mickey down by the shoulders.

"We—we should st-stop," he stuttered, breathing heavily.

"No, we shouldn't," Mickey tried to move forward again, but Ian leaned into him, keeping him down. "We should never stop," Mickey breathed.

"You're nuts," Ian smiled a bit.

"What about my nuts?" Mickey raised one eyebrow, then reached down and traced the line of Ian's semi-hard cock through his tight jeans. Ian swallowed hard. "Let me do this," Mickey whispered, eyes darkening. "You can't go to class like this, people will stare and I don't like when people stare at you."

Ian smiled crookedly at his boyfriend. "Cute," he said. "But we still can't. This is a public toilet, not to mention the fact that we're _at school._ "

Mickey's hands found Ian's hips and he rocked him forward so that their crotches were in line.

"Come on, pretty boy," Mickey said into Ian's ear, his hand grazing the back of his thigh, just below the swell of his ass. "You know you want to."

Ian opened his mouth to protest, but all that came was shaky breaths as Mickey's fingers slid up the line of his jeans that was covering the crack of his ass.

"Bl— _don't_ ," Ian said in a strangled voice, Mickey's fingers sliding to the underside of his ass and then moving to rest between his thighs, far too close for comfort. " _Don't._ "

"I'd stop if I knew you meant that," Mickey whispered, teeth brushing Ian's neck, slowly. "Tell me you don't want to and I'll stop."

"I.." Ian trailed off, voice breaking because Mickey's erection was against his thigh and Mickey was grinding himself into him. "I—yeah. D-Don't stop. But—mmh—but don't—not here. I only brought one change of p-pants."

Before Ian had even finished that sentence, Mickey was pushing him inside a narrow cubicle and shutting them both inside.

"Mickey, this is—oh, God, what are you— _Mickey!_ "

Ian watched, his blue eyes wide, as Mickey threw his bag down, dropped to his knees, falling to kneel on the bag, and began to undo the button at the top of Ian's jeans.

"Blai—" Ian tried, once his jeans and underwear were around his ankles, but he didn't finish what he had wanted to say, because Mickey had shoved his fingers in his mouth. He began to pull back, but then Mickey was pushing his mouth down over Ian's erection and his left hand was pressed to Ian's ass. He slid one finger to flick over Ian's opening and then Ian knew where this was going, so he sucked Mickey's fingers into his mouth.

"You should see yourself right now," Mickey said, once he had removed his mouth, much to Ian's dismay. "If I had a camera.."

"Mickey, shut up," Ian said, spitting Mickey's fingers out. "Shut up and do what you do best."

Mickey grinned and did as Ian obliged. Ian's parted his feet and then Mickey's wet fingers were working to push inside him, his mouth finding his cock again.

"Wh-what if someone c-comes in?" Ian exhaled.

"Then they'll have the pleasure of listening to you making those sounds," Mickey uttered, looking up at him.

"Sounds?" Ian asked, furrowing his eyebrows. "What s-sound— _ahh!_ "

Mickey's finger was all the way inside him, his body throbbing with both pain and pleasure.

"Those sounds," Mickey smiled, mischievously.

"Fuck you," Ian managed to breathe out.

"Ooh, do you want to?" Mickey grinned, retracting his finger slowly, then pushing back in too quickly. Ian's body spasmed.

"Bastard," Ian mumbled. "Stop being so cocky."

"Ian," Mickey smirked. "Ian, say 'cocky' again."

Ian rolled his eyes and his breath caught as Mickey's fingers worked themselves inside him. He reached down and placed a hand on the back of Mickey's head.

"Stop talking and put your mouth to better use."

"As you wish, my prince."

* * *

"Promise me you'll contact me the second you can," Ian said, unlatching his mouth from Mickey's. They were in Ian's car, still in the school parking lot. Everyone else had gone home already.

"Ian," Mickey said, leaning back a bit and running his thumb across Ian's wrist. "I swear to you that if I live through this, I will call you instantly."

"Don't say that," Ian frowned down at him.

Mickey smiled and reached up to lay a hand on Ian's cheek. "Will you stop worrying?" _I'll be fine_ , he wanted to say, but he wasn't about to lie to Ian. He had no idea if he would be fine, in fact, if he had to put money on it, he would predict that he would not be fine, at all, but he didn't want to worry Ian any more than he already had. "Look, what's the worst that can happen?—Actually, forget I asked that.."

"Let me come with you," Ian said. Mickey shook his head. "Mickey, come on, I can't go home knowing something might happen—"

"Ian," Mickey said, firmly. "Ian. Seriously. Don't do this. Don't make me feel guilty for making you worry."

"Oh, like I can just stop worrying in the blink of an eye?" Ian said, voice raising. "Fucking hell, Mickey."

"I know," Mickey said, softly. "I know. I'm sorry. Hey, look at me." Mickey tilted Ian's head so that their eyes met again. "I'm sorry. I just—I don't want you to worry about me. Be strong for both of us, okay?"

Ian sighed and nodded. "You know I'm going to kill you if you let your anger get the better of you and force his hand, right?"

"Are you saying I have anger issues?" Mickey smirked.

"Are you saying you don't?" Ian asked, smiling, but it didn't reach his beautiful eyes. "I'm serious, though, Mickey. And when I text you, you had better reply within two minutes, or I'm coming over."

"What would I do without you?" Mickey smiled, pulling Ian's mouth down over his own again.

Ian pulled back and frowned down at Mickey's crotch against Ian's stomach. "You'd end up in hospital with a severe case of carpal tunnel, methinks," Ian said, then smiled, "Seriously, when are you not horny?"

"Tell me you love me and I promise I'll go away," Mickey said, smiling, slightly. He had to go home and face it all some time.

"But I don't want you to go away," Ian said, smile disappearing.

"Tell me you love me anyway?" Mickey asked, entwining their fingers around each other.

"I love you."

* * *

 **To: Ian at 5.37 P.M.**

 _He doesn't know._

 **To: Mickey at 5.37 P.M.**

 _Seriously?_

 **To: Ian at 5.38 P.M.**

 _Seriously. I walked right by him when I got in and he smiled at me. SMILED AT ME, Ian. He's having one of his 'act like a responsible husband and father' days. He doesn't know._

 **To: Mickey at 5.39 P.M.**

 _So.. You're not going to tell him?_

 **To: Ian at 5.40 P.M.**

 _No, I'm still telling him. No more lies, right?_

 **To: Mickey at 5.40 P.M.**

 _Yeah. Yeah, no more lies._

 **To: Ian at 5.41 P.M.**

 _I can actually FEEL you worrying through text. Go do something to distract yourself. I'll call you afterwards._

 **To: Mickey at 5.42 P.M.**

 _Few things could distract me from this, Mickey._

 **To: Ian at 5.43 P.M.**

 _I bet I could give you some interesting suggestions ;)_

 **To: Mickey at 5.44 P.M.**

 _You're doing it again. Okay, go. Do it. I'll be waiting. I love you, okay? Like, a lot._

 **To: Ian at 5.45 P.M.**

 _Yeah, okay. Try not to worry too much, okay? I love you, too. Like, a lot a lot._

 **To: Ian at 5.48 P.M.**

 _I love you, Ian._

 **To: Mickey at 5.48 P.M.**

 _I love you, too, Mickey._

* * *

"Mom, dad?" Mickey said, voice shaky, as he walked into the kitchen.

His dad was sitting at the table reading the newspaper and his mom was pressing buttons on the microwave. It started up, that soft buzzing sound filling the air.

"Mickey, honey," his mom said, smiling. "What's wrong?"

"Can I.. Can I talk to you both?" Mickey said, trying to sound confident, but his insides were like jelly.

Mickey's dad looked up, frowning slightly. He folded the paper and laid it down in front of him. His mom came and sat down at the table, so Mickey sat down, too.

"I have something to tell you—"

"Is Quinn pregnant?" his mom asked, looking alarmed.

"Wh-what? No—I mean, yes, she is, but—no, that has nothing to, um, do with me—no."

"What do you mean it has nothing to do with you?" his mom asked. "Mickey, if Quinn is—"

"Mom," Mickey said, firmly. "Mom, Quinn is not having my baby."

Mickey watched his mother's face twisting in confusion, her dark eyes slitting, quizzically.

"Care to explain that, Mickey?"

Mickey turned at the sound of his father's voice. It always sent tremors all through him, shaking him to the core even if he knew there was no reason to be afraid sometimes.

"Um," Mickey said. "She—Quinn—she and Iggy—Noah Iggyerman—they've been, um, seeing one another and—and Quinn is pregnant w-with his baby."

"Oh, Bl—"

Mickey's dad spoke over his mom. "Why did you let that happen?"

"Because I don't care," Mickey said, simply. His parents stared at him in silence for a few seconds, then Mickey cleared his throat. "So, uh, about this thing I wanted to tell you.."

"I'm not sure I want to hear it," Mickey's dad said.

Mickey's heart was beating too quickly. His hands were sweating and he was finding it difficult to breathe. "Regardless, dad," Mickey said. "I need you both to know."

His dad sighed, as if he was bored and his mom simply sat there with her hands folded on the table in front of her. Mickey took a deep breath. This was it. After this, there wouldn't be any more lies. After this, he was free of the dead weight holding him down. He had to do this no matter how hard his hands were shaking. This was it.

"Mom, dad," Mickey said, slowly. "I'm gay."

A millennium of loud silence seemed to pass then, loud because there wasn't a sound, but nothingness seemed to hum annoyingly in his ears. Mickey let out a breath he hadn't realised he had been holding, then looked up at his mother and father. His mom looked stunned. His dad looked angered. Mickey swallowed.

"Say something," he urged, timidly.

"You're not gay, Mickey," his mom shook her head.

"Mom—"

"Mickey," she said, firmly. "You're not gay."

Mickey closed his mouth and just sat there, waiting for something— _anything_ —to happen. Nothing did, at least not for another long period of silence.

"Those rumours David Karofsky apparently spread around about you and that—that _boy_ you're working with for English..They were true?" Mickey's dad asked and Mickey was surprised he wasn't angrier.

"Yeah," Mickey admitted. "Ian—that's his name, the boy, I mean—we—he and I.. He's my b—"

" _Don't_."

"Dad, I—"

"Mickey," his father said, with a sort of controlled patience. "I said _don't_."

Mickey stopped and closed his mouth, but then something triggered inside of him. Why shouldn't he? He had every right to speak. Just because he liked boys instead of girls didn't mean he was any less of a person.

"Actually, dad," Mickey spoke up. "I kind of want to talk, get this out in the open."

"You'll do no such thing!" his father said, still rather calm. "We are going to fix this mess, Mickey. No one needs to know that you had this moment of confusion. We'll fi—"

" _Moment of confusion?_ " Mickey asked, not believing he had actually said those words. "Dad, I'm not confused, not any more. I _know_ who I am and I know who I want to be with and you know what? Everyone else knows, too."

"Everyone already... Mickey. What did you do?" his dad demanded, now losing his temper.

"I came out, dad," Mickey told him. "I told them the truth, because I'm sick of lies. I'm sick of pretending to be someone I'm not." He turned to look at his mom, who looked a little lost. "You're quiet," he told her.

"You're not gay, Mickey," she told him, adamantly. "You're not."

"Mom," Mickey said, shifting so that he was facing her completely. "Mom, I am. I'm gay. I'm in love with a boy. Ian—he—he's perfect, mom. I—"

"STOP," his mom shouted. "Stop, Mickey. _Stop._ "

Mickey sighed, tiredly. He didn't know what else he could do. "Look, I can just leave, whatever," he said, standing up. "It's not like this is my favourite place in the world anyway.."

"SIT DOWN!"

Mickey sat, on instinct, his father's voice pulsating through his body, making his heart race and his stomach twist painfully.

"Now, we are going to say you made a mistake, Mickey," his dad apprised him. "We're going to talk to the Fabrays about you and Quinn and we can fix this."

"Dad!" Mickey said, loudly. "I don't want to talk to the Fabrays about me and Quinn, okay? There isn't anything to fix! I'm in love with Ian! This is ridiculous!"

Mickey's father's fist came crashing down on the table. Both Mickey and his mom flinched and Mickey couldn't help thinking that had to have hurt. _Good_ , he thought.

"This is your English teacher's fault! If she hadn't paired you with that faggot, you would be perfectly normal!"

"You're blaming a half hour, twice a week in the library discussing the life and trials of Jane Eyre for me being gay?" Mickey asked and he couldn't force back the small, amused smile that was dancing on his lips. "Dad, meeting Ian now has nothing to do with my sexuality. I was going to be gay, regardless. People don't just make you gay, it's just who you are. And I am normal, dad. I'm the exact same person I was before I knew I liked boys."

"It's unnatural, Mickey!"

"Oh, seriously?" Mickey groaned. "Lots of things are unnatural, dad. Freaking hair gel is unnatural, but you still insist on me wearing it every day because it makes me look 'put together'."

"That's not the same thing and you know it!"

"Can we have a civilised conversation without you throwing things and shouting? Please?" Mickey asked. he was sick of trying to shout over his dad.

"Don't y—"

"Dad," Mickey said, loudly. "I can't talk to you if you're going to be like this."

Mickey's dad sat down, his face flushing with anger and frustration. Mickey saw him clenching and unclenching his fists.

"I don't even know where to begin with this," Mickey sighed. "Look, I should hate you, shouldn't I? I mean, let's be honest, I should despise you for everything you've done, but I don't. I don't know why I can't, but I can't and whatever, I can deal with that, but dad, I won't deal with the abuse any more. I'm sick of the bruises and the concussions and the headaches and the years of tears I have shoved down because you didn't deserve my tears."

Mickey's dad opened his mouth, his eyes wild, but Mickey went on.

"So many times I dialled 911, but I hung up the second the operator picked up, because I was too scared. What would happen once you were gone? What would the neighbours think? What would calling the police mean for us as a family? I don't know. I never thought past that, but now, I could do it. I could pick up that phone and I could call the cops, because I don't care what the neighbours think any more, dad. I don't care that you would get put away for this. I don't care what it would do to this family, because this isn't really a family, is it?"

Nobody said anything, so Mickey just took a deep breath and kept going, his heart racing.

"You're supposed to love and care in a family. You don't care about me or mom, all you care about is what other people think. You should be able to love me no matter who I love, but you can't, which makes me think you never really loved me in the first place, which I knew already. But I can't and I won't live in fear of you any more."

Mickey looked back to his mom. "Mom, I know you care too much about people, too, but seriously, they don't matter. I'm happy to tell the world who I am and who I am is a boy who is in love with another boy."

"No, Mickey—"

"Yes, mom," Mickey corrected. "I'll—I'll let you meet him. You'll see."

"No one wants to meet him, Mickey," Mickey's dad spat out. "No one wants to see you holding hands with a fag—"

"Faggot," Mickey said, slowly. "I've had that word flung at me all day, dad and it doesn't really hurt me any more, it's just a word. I've had 'fag' spray painted on my locker, which, whatever, it'll wash off and even if it doesn't, I'm nearly out of there. The thing is, those people who used that word, they're going to keep throwing that insult around, when in actual fact, it just makes them look stupid. Yeah, maybe I'll have to listen to it every day for the rest of my life, or something, but after a while, it tends to get boring. If it doesn't bother me, these people are just wasting their breath, because I don't care. The world is changing, it's time to move with it."

His dad seemed speechless. He sat there scowling, as if he'd just been kicked in the stomach.

"You always said Quinn was perfect for me, but it turns out, she's sort of a bitch," Mickey said. "She went and slept with my best friend, dad. Not so perfect, right? I mean, don't get me wrong, none of us are perfect, but I am so sick of having Quinn this and Quinn that shoved down my throat, when Quinn and I never even liked each other. It's not like that now. I know what it's like to love someone. I never loved Quinn."

"Mickey, Quinn is such a nice girl—"

"Mom," Mickey sighed. "She blackmailed me. She lied to me and told me she was having my baby. She's crazy."

"The Fabrays are a respectable family, Mickey, that's rude," his father told him. He seemed calm again. That was a good thing.

"Okay, sure," Mickey rolled his eyes. "I have something else to tell you."

"Oh, here we go—"

"Yeah, dad, here we go," Mickey nodded. "I didn't apply to any colleges. I hate playing football. I quit the team, I'm done with it. I don't know what I want to do, but I'll figure it out."

"You've thrown your future away?" his dad exploded. _So much for being calm_ , Mickey thought. "All because of a gay boy you met at school?"

"No," Mickey said. "No, this wasn't about Ian. Yeah, he helped me see what I hadn't seen before. He helped me see who I am and what I want and don't want, but I'm glad he did, because I would have wound doing something I hated. It isn't his fault, it's mine. I chose to do this and I'd do it again."

Mickey didn't add the fact that he would have done some research into schools near Ian, because his dad would have rubbed that in his face.

"Anyway, now you know. Everything," Mickey said, standing up. "I'm going to go get some clothes and leave, because clearly this isn't going to work."

"No, you're not," Mickey's dad said. "We're fixing this."

"There isn't anything to—"

"YES, THERE IS, Mickey!" hiss dad shouted, angrily. "EVERYTHING NEEDS TO BE FIXED!"

Mickey sighed. He hated this, hated when his dad got like this. "Well, maybe I don't want anything to be 'fixed'! Maybe I just want to go on kissing my boyfriend and being happy, for once in my God damned life."

"Being gay is _wrong,_ Mickey! You're a disgrace to this family! You're disgusting and you need to stop it before it's too late!"

Mickey took slow, even breaths, trying to calm his nerves, his temper. "Disgracing this family was all down to you, dad. You're the violent one. You're the one we all tip-toe around, because we don't want you to have another episode. You're the one sleeping with your secretary, or whoever she is. You're the one that makes this family what it is: A joke. You're the reason mom is the way she is. You're the reason for everything bad that's happened here. I can't handle it any more. I can't pretend like everything is okay when it's really not. I can't pretend I love playing football and that I like girls, just because that's who you think I should be. I like glee, I like boys and I love Ian and I can't change that and I _won't_ hide it."

"Then leave!"

"You realise I just tried to leave twice and you told me to sit back down, right?"

"Don't talk back to me!" his dad all but growled. "You're a disappointment to this family, Mickey! To me and your mother!"

"I kind of hope I am a disappointment to you, dad," Mickey told him. "Because if I've done anything that has lived up to your expectations, then I should be ashamed of myself, because that means I've been a liar. Nothing that you want me to be is who I am, so good. I hope you're disappointed in me."

"It's wrong, you know," his dad told him. "Being with this boy. It's wrong. Your mother told you it was wrong when you were younger, you should have registered that."

Mickey turned and looked at his mom. "That time I asked you about the prince in the tower," Mickey said. "Did you know?"

She didn't say anything, simply looked down at her hands.

"Mom," Mickey said, softly. "Did you? Did you know before I did?"

"Yes," she uttered. "I tried to snap you out of it! I did! I tried my best! And when you started dating Quinn, I thought it had worked. Mickey, please stop this. Stop it for me."

"I can't just stop, mom," he sighed. "I can't. This is who I am and I have to be who I really am. For me. If you don't like it, okay. There's nothing I can do about that. It doesn't mean I'm going to change. I couldn't if I wanted to."

Mickey stood up and took a deep breath.

"Where will you go?" his mom asked, curiously.

"That boy's obviously," his dad spat out, face twisting in disgust.

"Yeah," Mickey nodded. "Yeah, I'll go to Ian's, if his dad will have me and I think he will. He's so supportive of Ian, proud of him, he loves him. I'm glad he has that, because I couldn't bear to see someone I love suffering because of ignorance and anger. So, thanks dad, thanks for making most of my life a misery."

Mickey spun around towards the door and began walking towards it, when he felt himself being shoved a little, as his father stormed by. Mickey lost his balance and tripped. He tried to grab for something, but found only thin air. He hit the ground, his head coming down on the pointed corner of the marble fireplace.

He stayed there, cursing his life for a good ten minutes, his head throbbing painfully. He reached up and his hand came away red. This was great. Mickey pulled himself up and continued on out the door, wobbling a little. He got in his car and the world slipped sideways and he didn't know what to do.

Mickey felt his pocket buzzing then and he took his phone out and blinked down at the screen.

 **4 MISSED CALLS FROM: Ian.**

He hit the green calling button and pressed the phone to his ear, the one on the side of his head that wasn't injured. It only rang once before Ian answered.

"Mickey?"

"Ian," Mickey said.

"Are you okay? You sound.. Mickey?"

"Think you can come over and pick me up?" Mickey asked and it hurt when he opened his mouth to wide.

"I'm on my way," Ian said and Mickey heard him closing doors. "Are you okay?"

"Just dandy," Mickey said.

There was a short pause and Mickey knew that Ian wasn't convinced.

"Give me ten minutes, babe."

* * *

"What the.. Mickey?" Ian felt the cold panic sweeping through his body as he pulled Mickey's car door open and saw him sitting there, looking dazed, a large gash on the side of his head. "Wh-what happened?"

"I tripped," Mickey said, groggily.

"Right," Ian said. "Let's get you out of there."

* * *

"Ian, seriously, I did. I tripped," Mickey told Ian once they were back at his house. They were in the kitchen and Ian was washing his wound. Mickey kept wincing in agony.

"I don't get why you would lie to me."

"Ian, I'm not lying, I—ow!—he flew past me too quickly when I wasn't expecting it and he hit off me, but I tripped a fell."

"So, you think he just did it by mistake," Ian deadpanned.

"I honestly do."

"Jesus, Mickey," Ian sighed. "Your head is split open."

"Think I need a doctor?"

"I don't know," Ian said, worriedly. "I'm going to call my dad."

* * *

"It's sort of deep, but it's just a cut," Frank said, studying Mickey's head. "Should I go ro—"

"No!" Mickey said, quickly, then blushed. "I mean, no. It's okay. He—I just tripped, I promise."

Frank didn't look convinced and Ian groaned, tiredly, but they let it go. "Okay," Ian said. "I'll wrap it up and then we can go downstairs."

Frank nodded. "You want anything?"

"I'm good," Ian said, wrapping a small bandage across Mickey's head. "What about you?" he asked him.

"No, thank you," Mickey said. "I just—Are you sure you don't mind me here?"

"Don't be silly," Frank said. "Whenever you need to stay, stay."

"Thank you," Mickey said again. Frank shrugged and disappeared out of the room. Frank Gallagher was the nicest man he knew. "When I grow up, I want to be your dad, Ian."

Ian scoffed a bit. "That," he told Mickey. "Is all kinds of disturbing."

* * *

"Kiss me."

"Mickey," Ian said, warningly. "You're in pain."

"Yeah, but you're beautiful and you should kiss me."

Ian wavered a bit. No one had ever called him beautiful before. Mickey had said it while they were having sex and when he was drunk, but he had never simply looked at him and said it like he meant it.

"I—no one's ever called me that before," he said, quietly.

"What? Beautiful?" Mickey asked, as if he didn't believe him. "Are you crazy? have I never told you that before? Am _I_ crazy?"

Ian smiled and inched closer, so that their shoulders were touching. "I think you're delirious, Mickey." He had taken strong pain killers, they were clearly impacting on him.

"Why won't you kiss me?" Mickey asked. "Is it because I'm homeless? You won't kiss a homeless guy? God. I'm going to have to live under that bridge with that guy... Brett. Or outside the post office with Patches and we can bark at people together. I'm excited."

Ian chuckled and grabbed Mickey's hand. "Brett doesn't live under a bridge, he just _smells_ homeless," Ian pointed out. "And anyway, you're not homeless. You can stay here."

"What good is staying here going to do if you won't even kiss me?" Mickey pouted.

Ian rolled his eyes and leaned across and kissed him. "Happy?"

"You're pretty," Mickey smiled, eyes half lidded, just small glints of gold peeking out from beneath his sallow lids, framed by those dark lashes.

"I should give you painkillers all the time," Ian joked. "So many compliments."

"You deserve to know you're perfect," Mickey smiled. "Plus, I'm not _that_ drugged."

Ian smiled at him. He looked so young lying there, with the white bandage around his head, wearing a pair of Ian's pyjamas, which were too long on him. He looked so adorable.

"Do you feel better?" Ian asked. "That you had it out with them?"

"I'll tell you when I can feel my head again," Mickey grimaced. "I suppose sex is out of the question?" he asked, looking up at Ian hopefully.

"Completely out of the question," Ian said, adamantly.

Mickey sighed and laid his head back on the pillows carefully. He made a small hissing sound when he turned his head.

"Are you okay?" Ian asked, concerned.

"Fine," Mickey nodded. "I can't believe I tripped like that."

Ian rolled his eyes. "Right."

"I know you don't believe me, but I tripped. He moved swiftly by me and I tripped over my own feet."

"Okay," Ian nodded. He reached down and grabbed Mickey's hand that was making its way towards Ian's inner thigh. "Look, you've been through a lot today. Let's just not for tonight. Just be here, sleep, cry, whatever you want to do."

"I won't cry," Mickey told him.

"You can if you want to, you know that, right?"

"I know," Mickey nodded. "But I don't have any reason to cry. It could have gone a million times worse and I expected it to. He doesn't deserve my tears, he never has. All I did was tell the truth and I'm not going to cry because they didn't like it."

"Have I told you I loved you today?" Ian smiled.

"Yes, but I think you should tell me again." Mickey smirked.

"I love you."

"Even though I'm homeless?"

Ian rolled is blue eyes. "Yes, Mickey, even though you're homeless."

"What happens when homeless people are horny?"

"Oh my God, Mickey," Ian breathed.

"I'm serious, though," Mickey reasoned. "It's not like they can just whip it ou—"

"Mickey!"

"You should just like, kiss me again."

"Seems like the only way to shut you up," Ian muttered, as he bent to press his lips to Mickey's again. Ian pulled back and then Mickey was pushing him down. Ian looked up at him, one eyebrow raised.

"You're going to hurt yourself," he told Mickey.

"Guess what?"

"What?" Ian asked, smiling.

"You called me babe on the phone today."

"Did I?" Ian asked, feeling the heat creeping up the back of his neck. "I was caught up in the moment, I was worried about you."

Mickey sighed and pulled Ian down to kiss him again. This time, the kiss was deeper, longer, more breath-taking.

"You should stop making excuses," Mickey whispered.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Ian smiled, sadly. "You've been through so much over the past couple of days."

"Are you kidding?" Mickey grinned and it appeared to hurt. "I'm finally free!"

Ian felt Mickey's hand resting on the small of his back, then and something kissed his skin where his shirt had slid up. He leaned back and took Mickey's hand to see what had happened. He saw the bracelet then and his smile faded.

"You didn't take it off."

"No," Mickey said. "Why would I?"

"Because I threw mine back at you." He chewed his bottom lip.

"So I can give it back to you," Mickey shrugged, then he was humming. It took Ian a few seconds to figure out what the song was, then he realised it was the song on the bracelet, 'Sideways'. "You know, I kept wishing everything I felt for you would go away," Mickey said, studying his bracelet. "I know they never will. I don't want them to. Ever."

"You want to keep getting knocked sideways for the rest of your life?" Ian smirked.

"Absolutely," Mickey told him. "You know what else we can do sideways, Ian?" Mickey raised an eyebrow mischievously.

"No, Mickey," Ian smiled.

"I was just kidding," Mickey smiled back. "Go put on a movie."

"Okay," Ian said. "What movie?"

"Um," Mickey looked thoughtful. "A horror movie."

"Why?" Ian asked. "Hasn't your day been horrible enough?"

Mickey rolled his eyes, then stopped. "Ouch, I forgot I couldn't do that," he muttered. "Anyway, I was hoping you were kind of scared of horror and would end up having to curl up in my arms.

"You think I need a horror movie to do that?" Ian asked.

"You don't?" Mickey asked and Ian shook his head. "Well, in that case, scrap the movie. Get over here and hold me because my life sucks."

Ian went up closer and encompassed his waist with his arms.

"Well," Mickey said, smiling now. "Not every part of it sucks. At least, not unless I ask nicely."

"Were those paracetamol or Viagra?" Ian chuckled.

"I don't need Viagra to want you, baby."

"Baby, huh?" Ian raised an eyebrow, his heart stammering a little.

"If you get babe, I get baby," Mickey said, his fingers playing with Ian's hair.

"Okay," Ian said, carefully. "In that case, I love you, babe."

"And I love you, baby," Mickey grinned. "See? We make a great team."

"Mickey?"

"What?"

"You are high."

"I love you."

"I love you, too."


	29. Chapter 29

**Chapter 29:**

"We should go out." Mickey waited for a response, but Ian didn't flicker. He rolled his eyes and elbowed his boyfriend gently in the side. Ian rolled over, with a quiet groan, but was still asleep. "Iaaaann," Mickey said, leaning closer to Ian's ear. Mickey smiled and pressed his hand to the inside of Ian's thigh and then slowly, slid it upwards and then Ian was awake and sitting up.

"What the..?"

"Trying to wake you up," Mickey grinned.

"Other people have alarm clocks," Ian said, but he was smiling. "I get molested in my sleep."

Mickey sat up and faced Ian, crossing his legs.

"What did you want, anyway?" Ian asked, as Mickey entwined their fingers together. "How's the head?"

"It's okay," Mickey said, but it was still throbbing a little bit. "Buttttt," he said, stretching out the 't' sound. "I was waking you up to say we should go out."

Ian blinked a couple of times. "I thought we were already going out?" he made it a question.

"No," Mickey shook his head. "I meant _out_ out. As in on a date. We've never gone out on a date."

Ian seemed to stare at him for longer than was really necessary and then he smiled, slightly, his eyebrows raising. "Um, okay," he breathed. "Where has this come from?"

Mickey shrugged and lay back against Ian. "I was just thinking about how we sort of got into this whole thing really quickly," he said. "Like, we started with sex and _then_ feelings came into it, when it should have been the other way round. Plus, dating should have slotted in there somewhere."

They both spoke at the same time then.

"We don't have to."

"Unless you don't want to."

"Oh."

"Oh."

"Oh, what?" Ian asked.

"You don't want to," Mickey said.

"I didn't say that," Ian said, pushing Mickey gently off, so that they could face one another. "I just meant I don't want you to feel like you have to take me out. Sex and feelings is more than fine with me."

"Yeah," Mickey smiled. "But imagine sex and feelings and _dating._ Or! Imagine dating, then feelings, then _sex_."

Ian rolled his sky blue eyes and chuckled. "I think it's time for your medication, _babe_."

Mickey lay back again and Ian cradled his head in his arms, then began to unravel the bandage from around his head. Mickey closed his eyes when Ian gently pulled the bandage off of the cut. It stung, but wasn't hurting as badly as it had the night before.

"Ew," he heard Ian say.

"'Thought you said you loved me," Mickey fake pouted.

"I'll love you in a minute," Ian said, crawling out from beneath Mickey and standing up. "Be right back."

"Does loving me in a minute mean a blowjob?" Mickey called after Ian, as he disappeared into the bathroom. He lay back, smiling, because even though his life had literally come apart at the seams and would probably never be sewn back together, he still had these little moments with Ian. _Not for long_ , his mind said, automatically, but he shoved that away, not wanting to think about it.

He lay there, just thinking, until Ian came back a few minutes later, holding a damp towel and a fresh bandage. He looked at Mickey and smiled. "Have you figured it out?" he asked after a moment.

"Hmm?" Mickey asked, pushing himself up. "Figured what out?"

"The meaning of life, or whatever mind-boggling concept you were just trying to understand."

"Huh?" Mickey furrowed his dark eyebrows.

"Nothing," Ian smiled, sitting back down. "You just looked as if you were thinking about something really deep and meaningful." Ian dabbed the wet towel to Mickey's head and he winced a little at first, but then settled down. "So, what was it?" Ian asked.

"What?"

"That you were thinking about."

"Oh," Mickey said. "You."

"Me?" Ian asked.

"I'm always thinking about you."

"Cheese ball," Ian grinned, unravelling the new bandage.

"I was just thinking," Mickey began. "About how you said no one had ever called you beautiful before." He tilted his head backwards so that he could see Ian, who was blushing now. "Stop getting embarrassed," Mickey smiled. "I'm serious, though. How does that work?"

"How does what, um, work?" Ian asked, taking Mickey's head in his hands again. He began to wrap the bandage back across the gash.

"You getting through eighteen years of not being called beautiful."

Ian only shrugged.

"You don't even see it, do you?" Mickey asked, sitting up and then flipping himself onto his stomach in front of Ian. He reached out and took his hands. "I'm being serious. You're so perfect. It literally _hurts_ when I think about how perfect you are. Just—seriously, you're so attractive."

"Um," Ian said. "Is this some kind of strategical flattery?"

"You wound me, baby."

"What do you want, _babe_?"

Mickey grinned. "Nothing," he told him. "I do, however, think you should let me take you out and flaunt you to those who have less attractive boyfriends and they can be insanely jealous while I get to take you back here and undress you and put my tongue on every last inch of your body."

"Oh."

"Oh?"

"Oh," Ian nodded and Mickey glanced down as Ian crossed his legs over his growing erection.

" _Oh_ ," Mickey grinned and he pushed himself up, then crawled across until he was looming over a flushed Ian. "Did I get you all hot and bothered?" Ian swallowed and Mickey's fingers went to the waistband of his pyjama bottoms. "Lie back."

Ian obliged and Mickey slid his hand down his pants and palmed Ian's half-hard cock through his briefs. "So, uh," Ian managed. "Ab-about going out. Um, where are you—we going to go?"

"I was thinking Breadstix," Mickey informed him as he slipped back down and placed a gentle kiss to Ian's hip, where he had slid his pants down slightly.

"Br-Breadstix?" Ian asked. "But everyone goes there.

" _Exactly._ "

"Oh," Ian uttered.

"Oh?" Mickey asked, and he wrapped his hand around Ian's cock.

" _Ohhh_ ," Ian emitted.

"That's what I was thinking," Mickey smiled.

* * *

"I feel like everyone's staring," Ian told Mickey on the other side of the table at Breadstix."

"Please," Mickey said. "We could just be friend having dinner together."

Ian watched as Mickey reached across and laid a hand over his.

"Or not," Ian uttered.

"Relax," Mickey smiled, his eyes bright and glittering in the dim overhead lights.

"I am relaxed," Ian said, twisting his hand in Mickey's. "I'm merely stating a fact."

"I like when you merely state facts."

"That makes no sense," Ian told him. "I knew you should have waited before you took those painkillers again."

Mickey grinned like a mad man and began to play with his straw. "I didn't take them."

"Oh," Ian said. "Well, then, that's awkward."

Mickey chuckled and gave Ian's hand a squeeze, ignoring the looks of disapproval the man at the next table was shooting them. "I'm sorry we didn't date sooner."

Ian smiled and squeezed back. "Well, you were already dating someone for most of the start of this," Ian pointed out.

"Even still," Mickey said. His eyes darkened then and he leaned a little closer. "You never deserved to be treated the way I treated you at the beginning, Ian.

"You're sure you didn't take those pills?"

"No," Mickey smiled, the corners of his mouth tilting slightly upwards. "Really, though. I was horrible to you. I should have just given in the second I knew I liked you. I should have left Quinn. I should have told you how I felt. I should have given you everything you deserve right from the beginning."

Ian smiled, crookedly. "It's okay."

"It's not," Mickey disagreed. "I promise you that from now on, I'll treat you with the love and care you deserve. I'll treat you like.. Like a prince!"

Ian laughed. "Actually, I was princess, remember?"

"Pfft," Mickey scoffed. "I'll be princess. I can totally see you riding into castle grounds on a white horse, waving a sword in the air, the sun colliding with the silver point, casting a radiant glow all across your flawless, milky-white, skin, your dazzling blue eyes shining, like the ocean on a summer's day."

"Mickey, since when are you a poet?" Ian spluttered. "I suppose I'm supposed to picture you in a fabulous, pink ballgown?"

"Only if that lights your fire," Mickey wiggled an eyebrow.

Ian choked a bit. Mickey had just said 'lights your fire'. He shook his head and sat back, smiling.

"Think you'll ever forgive me?" Mickey asked, the ghost of a smile still on his pale lips.

"I never held anything against you," Ian apprised him.

Mickey got that glint in his eye, then. "Technically not true."

"Eat your bread sticks, Mickey," Ian shook his head.

Mickey reached across and took a bread stick then lifted it to his mouth and started flicking his tongue across it. Ian blushed, remembering how Mickey had done just that earlier that day when he'd taken his pyjama bottoms off and..

 _He was doing it on purpose._

Ian frowned at Mickey, whose golden brown eyes were locked with his blue ones. The corners of Mickey's mouth tilted up into a smile when he realised Ian had made the connection. He started to suck the bread stick into his mouth then and Ian could only stare at him.

"I love when you get all flustered," Mickey told him, taking his mouth off the bread stick for a split second.

"We're in public," Ian hissed, but he couldn't take his eyes off Mickey's stupid tongue.

"Oh, I know," Mickey grinned. "And I remember how much you liked it last time I did that to you in public."

Ian looked away quickly, remembering their encounter in the school toilets. "I'll make you pay for this," he told Mickey.

"Ooh," Mickey smirked. "Is that a promise?"

* * *

"Where's Mickey?" Rachel asked, sitting down on the sofa. She took her hat off and left it in her lap.

"Sleeping," Ian told her, sitting down beside Mercedes. "He passed out after taking his pills."

Which was half true. Mickey had gotten a tad hyper following taking his pills and only after an hour or so of grinning like an idiot and making sexual innuendos did he finally flake out and go to sleep.

"Is he doing okay?" Mercedes enquired.

"Yeah," Ian smiled. "Yeah, he's doing fine."

"What's Mickey doing after school anyway?" Rachel asked, curiously.

Ian's smile disappeared.

"Nothing," Ian said. "Or at least he has nothing planned."

Mickey felt a little dizzy from the meds, so he pressed his back to the wall and just listened. He didn't want to walk in while they were talking about him, because that would make everything insanely awkward, so he waited.

"So, what's going to happen?" Mickey heard Mercedes ask.

"I have no idea," Ian sighed. "I just.. I wasn't sure about it—us, when I found out he hadn't applied anywhere, but he convinced me to give it a try and I wanted to, so I caved, said yes, but now.. Now I just don't know. Not now that he is virtually out on the streets and without any kind of stability or love in his life. It's like—like I'm all he has."

Which was true, but he didn't want that holding Ian back.

"I just.. I don't know what to do. Because I love him, I really do, but.. I don't know. What's going to happen when I have to leave?"

Rachel and Mercedes were both quiet. Ian went on when he saw they had no solutions. "Sometimes I.. Sometimes I think I should just tell him I don't love him, that we're going nowhere, that I can't do it any more, because I don't know how to leave him, but I won't ever do that. That would be the most selfish thing I could ever do."

"That's what I would do," Rachel added. "My career comes first."

"I can't put my career first, Rachel," Ian said. "I don't know for sure that my career will ever take off, but Mickey.."

"You can't be sure it'll work out with Mickey in the long run anyway," Rachel shook her head. "You'll regret it if you don't go, Ian, trust me."

Ian sighed, sounding worn out. "I just.. I have a feeling about him, Rachel, like he's the one. I just.. I don't know what to do. He has nothing. How am I supposed to claim I love him, then leave him?"

Mickey felt his heart contracting in his chest. He sat there, pressing the back of his head to the wall, just listening.

"I know you feel bad for him, Ian, but this is your life," Mercedes pointed out.

"But he's a huge part of my life."

"You've known him for five months, Ian," Rachel deadpanned.

"Right," Ian said. "And in those five months, he's changed so much and come out of himself and he—he's found himself. If I leave him, what's going to happen? Will he fall apart again? Will he go back to hiding, pretending, just because it's the easiest way to get through? I can't let him do that."

"Maybe you should talk to him," Mercedes suggested.

"I don't want to hurt him, Mercedes."

"If he loves you, he'll let you go, Ian," Rachel uttered.

"I don't want him to let me go."

Mickey didn't want to let him go, either, but for once, Rachel had a point.

* * *

Mickey stared up at the white ceiling, into the nothingness above him. He felt as if he couldn't really breathe properly. He was light headed and his heart was hammering and he felt sick, but he knew he had to do it. He knew there was no other way.

It was about thirty minutes or so before Mickey heard Ian coming down the steps. He sat up and tried to act natural.

"Hey," Mickey said, when Ian walked into his bedroom.

"You're awake," Ian smiled and sat down on the bed. "Sleep okay?"

"Why didn't you talk to me?"

"Huh?" Ian asked. "Talk to you about what?"

Mickey pushed himself up so that he could look right at Ian. "I heard you talking to Mercedes and Rachel," he provided. "You should have talked to me."

Ian's expression went blank for a couple of heart beats, then he frowned. "It was too soon, Mickey. Everything happened at once and I—I didn't want to add to the drama."

Mickey studied him. His face was paler than usual and his eyes held a sadness. Mickey wished he could hug him, hold him, make him smile again, but he didn't. "I love you, Ian," Mickey told him.

Ian's eyebrows furrowed. "I love you, too."

"Which is why I'm letting you go," Mickey said, voice breaking a little. "I—Rachel and Mercedes are right. This is your life, your career. If I held you back, that would make me selfish and a horrible human being and it would certainly go against me loving you, so I'm not going to do that. I'm going to let you go. I'll leave, I'll figure out where to stay and then after that, I'll figure out what I'll do after we graduate, but you were right the first time round. Breaking up earlier rather than later is the best thing to do. It doesn't make it easier, exactly, but at least we won't have a million more memories to add to the pain. This is for the best."

"Mickey, no," Ian shook his head. "Stay. Don't leave, stay. We'll figure it out."

Mickey shut his eyes, tightly, then opened them again. "No," he shook his head, adamant. "No, this is how it has to be. If I didn't do this, it would mean I don't give a crap about you, but I do. I love you and you're everything to me, so I'm letting you go."

Ian's eyes were shining now and Mickey hoped he wouldn't cry, because if he cried he would set him off, too and he might give in if he saw Ian crying.

"I don't want you to let me go."

"I don't want to let you go, either, but I have to," Mickey explained. "Can you see where I'm coming from?"

"Yes, but I—Mickey, listen," Ian sat forward and took Mickey's hand in his. Mickey's skin still tingled every time he touched him. "We could try and work something out. Honestly, we'll figure it out. We'll make it through this. I love you. I do. I just—Mickey, I need you in my life. I can't imagine a day without having you in my life. Don't leave."

Mickey was tempted. He wanted to just cry, or sleep, or kiss Ian senseless, but this was what he had to do. He had no place in Ian's bright future, no matter how hard it hurt him to admit it. It was true and this was the right thing to do.

"I'm sorry," Mickey told him and he really was sorry. "You'll get through this, though. You're going to make it, Ian and when you do, you won't remember me. I'll always remember you, though. When you're up there on Broadway, or whatever, I'll be able to sit back and smile and say to myself ' _he loved you once. Ian Gallagher love you once_ ' and that'll be enough, just knowing I let you go for a reason, that you went on to do amazing things."

Ian sniffled, but he was smiling, sadly. "I'll look out for Mickey Milkovich in the audience every single night."

"I'll be there," Mickey promised, though if he was living under a bridge, he wasn't sure how he would be able to keep such a promise.

"Look, is there any way I can change your mind? Any way at all? Please, Mickey?"

"No," Mickey told him. "This is what I want, okay?"

Ian sighed and his breaths came out shakily and broken. "At least stay at my house," he said. "I can't have you roaming the streets, Mickey."

"I'll figure it out," he said and he leaned across and kissed Ian on the lips, gently. "It'll be okay."

"I love you, babe," Ian told him and a small sob escaped his throat.

Mickey chuckled. "Love you, too, baby."

* * *

Mickey hadn't spoken to him once since he had broken it off. He had heard from Mike that he was staying at his house for a while and Ian was glad that he was somewhere safe, warm. It broke his heart knowing he had thrown away the only thing he had just so that he would have a chance at a real future, away from Lima.

Ian would have been happy to try to figure something out, somehow. He wasn't sure what exactly, but he wished he had given him that chance. He loved Mickey far too much to just let him go, but it didn't seem as if he had much of a choice.

Mickey smiled at Ian after the New Directions won their regionals competition. Ian had smiled back and Mickey had looked away and that was the epitome of their communication. Ian sighed, because e missed his boyfriend. He missed him being crazy and whiny and horny and funny and smart and stupid and all of those things that Mickey was.

He just really missed his boyfriend.

* * *

 **To: Ian at 6.32 P.M.**

 _Ian, have you seen Mickey? He left at around 8AM and I haven't seen him since. Mike._

* * *

"Gallagher"

"Why are you at my house, Iggy?" Ian demanded to know. "How do you even know where I live?"

"Lip told me," he explained. He was wearing his football kit and holding his helmet under his arm. "I need a favour."

"I don't do favour for people I dislike."

Iggy groaned and looked as if he wanted to punch something. Ian watched him through bored eyes. "Look," Iggy said, patiently. "I need to know where Milkovich is, okay? This game depends on everything. We need him, so where is he?"

"I have no idea," Ian said. "No one has seen him since 8AM, so if you don't mind, I'm sort of busy trying to fi—"

"Gallagher, it's 6.45 now, the game starts at 8," Iggy said. " _We need him_."

"He hates you," Ian exploded. "He's hardly going to do you a favour after everything you've done! Now get the hell away from my house!"

Ian didn't give Iggy a chance to speak, he simply slammed the door and went back into the kitchen and re-read Mike's text. He couldn't control the fast paced beating of his heart. He was worried something had happened to him. Mickey didn't have a lot to live for. Ian shook his head. He didn't want to think about anything like that.

He dialled Mickey's number and waited. He never picked up.

* * *

"Jesus, Mickey," Ian said, breathlessly. "You couldn't pick up your phone?"

Ian went and sat down in the grass next to him. He had come to the field after having called Mickey at least sixty times. He'd had a feeling he would be here, but he had still been scared.

"What are you doing here?" Mickey asked.

"Looking for you."

"I'm fine."

"You could have picked up your phone and told me, then," Ian said, catching his breath again. "I was worried sick."

Mickey sighed and buried his face in his hands. His hair was a mess and he looked tired, worn, like he hadn't slept in months.

"Noah Iggyerman showed up at my house," Ian said.

Mickey's head shot up quickly and his bright eyes were wide. "Did he do anyth—"

"He was looking for you, actually," Ian shook his head. "I don't suppose you have any intention in going to the game?"

"Screw them and their game."

"Well," Ian said. "I think you should let them know you're not going."

"What? Why?"

"Because it's the right thing to do."

"The right thing to do," Mickey laughed a bit. "The right thing to do always sucks."

Ian nodded. He wished he could fix this, wished he could help Mickey get through it, wished he could help himself, but he didn't know how. Mickey flung his phone at Ian.

"You do it."

Ian did and then gave Mickey his phone back. "Come back to my house," Ian said. "I just want you to be safe."

"Look, I'm surviving, okay? I don't know what else to do!"

Ian reached down and grabbed Mickey's hand, even though he tried to pull away. "Regardless of what happened," Ian said. "I still love you and I still want you alive and well, so please. I'm asking you, please just come back to my house."

"I can't," Mickey stressed. "I'm fine here, really, I am."

"Fine," Ian said and he lay back. "I'm staying with you."

"No," Mickey breathed. "No, go home, Ian. Don't do this for me, it's freezing out here."

Ian was adamant. He wasn't going to leave Mickey in danger. He needed him to be safe. He loved him and he wanted him to be okay, even if okay was the last thing Mickey was.

"I'm staying right here."

"Why?"

"Because I love you."

Mickey looked down at him and he smiled and Ian smiled, too, because Mickey's smile was infectious. "You're an idiot."

"Maybe," Ian said and he sat up a little. "But I still love you and I still want you safe, so I'm staying with you, no matter what."

"I love you, too," Mickey told him.

They kept their eyes locked for a long time, golden discs and blue orbs just gazing into one another and Ian couldn't help what he did next. He moved slowly forward and closed the gap between them, catching Mickey's mouth with his own. He felt Mickey gasping into the kiss and then he was whispering against his lips.

"This doesn't mean anything," he exhaled. "I'm—I'm letting you go. It's j-just a kiss. It means n-nothing."

Ian pulled back a little and looked into Mickey's eyes, his lips still tingling from the kiss.

"A kiss between us will never mean nothing."

And he pressed his lips to his again and they fell back in the grass, their shadows entwining and they became one in the faint opalescent glow of the rising moon.


	30. Chapter 30

**Chapter 30:**

"Finn asked me to prom!"

Ian, Mercedes, Tina, Santana and Brittany sat there in silence, just watching Rachel.

"That was your big announcement?" Mercedes asked.

Rachel's wide grin faded and she looked confused. "Yes," she said. "I don't understand, this is big news! I wanted to share it with my girls." Ian raised a thin brow. "And Ian!" she added, quickly.

"Rachel, Finn is your boyfriend," Tina said. "Of course he asked you to prom. Just like Mike asked me."

"I'm going with Sam," Mercedes grinned and her statement was followed by a loud chorus of shrill screams.

Ian was happy for Mercedes, but he couldn't help feeling down. He missed Mickey and it seemed as if everyone had a boyfriend, but him. Ian sighed and sat back, wondering at what point in the future he would be over this and ready to move on. He came up with nothing.

* * *

"Look, you know me by now," Mickey said, following the librarian down the counter, as she went to file papers. "Sure, I vomited _one time_ and it's not as if I could help that. Where's your sense of romance?"

"L232," she said, pointing towards the shelves.

"What—no," Mickey shook his head. "That's not what I meant. I _know_ where the romance section is, I've been sitting there since September. I _vomited_ there." He paused as she gave him an unamused look. "Okay, not helping. Look, I just need you to make sure no one else sits there. Just for like, ten minutes. _Please._ "

The librarian sighed, tiredly and laid a stack of paper down on her desk. "Okay," she said. "Fine, but any longer than that and the deal's off."

"Really? Thank you!" Mickey beamed. "I promise to stop being loud and to stop laughing and being a nuisance while I'm here. And I'll never vomit here again! Thank you!"

* * *

 **1 NEW MESSAGE FROM: Mickey.**

 _Hey. Wanna meet me in the library at 6 and we can get that assignment done? -Mickey._

* * *

Ian pushed the library door open and walked in, the familiar scent of old books hitting him the moment he stepped inside. The library was empty, as usual, only the librarian perched in her chair behind the counter, her thin, wire, gold-framed glasses sitting on her nose as she studied a book. She glanced up at Ian, then looked back down at her book. Ian turned to walk towards their usual table, but found that Mickey was not yet there.

Ian rolled his eyes, sighed and went towards the table to sit and wait. However, when Ian reached the table, he stopped. There was something sitting on the table, right in front of the chair that Ian usually sat in. He stood there for another couple of seconds, then went forward to see what it was.

When he sat into his seat, Ian saw that a small scrap of paper was sitting there. On top of the paper, was a single orange rose and also a pool of familiar silver links. Ian furrowed his eyebrows and unfolded the scrap of paper, slowly and quietly, because he was, after all, in a public library.

Ian squinted down at the page and read the messily scrawled words.

 _Hi, Ian :)_

 _I'm not there, obviously, which means I lied and we said no more lies, but this is a good kind of lie, even if that might not be possible. But hopefully you think it's a good kind, too._

 _I'm just going to get to the point, because I asked the librarian (God, we are always there, why don't we know her name by now?) to keep the table free for like, ten minutes. I bet there's no one there, though. I bet it's just you. It's always just you, anyway. Always just you._

 _Anyway, to the point. I'm asking you to go to prom. With me. I'm asking you to go to prom with me. Will you go to prom with me? I rephrased this in my head about six billion times, which is stupid, right? Because we know each other and I should just ask. So, will you go? I mean, as my date, obviously, even if we're not how we were?_

 _You should meet me at our field. That's where I am now, waiting for you. Anxiously. Pick up your bracelet, put it on, stick that rose in your pocket and get in your car and come down here and put me out of my misery, because I'm most probably pulling my hair out right now, which is a lot of wasted hair gel. See, now I'm babbling._

 _See you in a few._

 _I love you (still)._

 _Mickey._

Ian shoved the paper and the bracelet in his pocket and took the rose carefully in his hands, then stood up.

* * *

"You came."

"Putting you out of your misery," Ian said, walking towards Mickey, smiling, the rose still in his hand.

Mickey looked flustered and uneasy as he stood up quickly and brushed grass off his pants. Ian stopped a couple of feet away from him. "Um," Mickey cleared his throat. "Before you say no, I have something I want to say."

"Mickey, I—"

"No, please. Hear me out," Mickey said. Ian gave him a small nod and Mickey exhaled. "Okay, so, prom. I—look, Ian I know that we're breaking away and you're leaving and I sort of broke things off, but I just—I want one more day, one more real, full, good day with you, before you run away into this amazing new life that I don't belong in."

"Mickey, d—"

"Sit down for a minute?" Ian sat and Mickey moved to sit next to him. He reached out and took the rose from Ian. "Do you know what this means?" he asked, holding up the flower.

"An orange rose?" Ian shook his head. "No idea."

Mickey smiled. "It's not an orange rose," he told Ian. "I mean, yeah, it looks like an orange rose, but it's actually called a yellow rose with red tips, or something like that. I googled rose meanings for this and this felt like the right one to give to you. Let me explain," he sat up a little. "A yellow rose with red tips symbolises friendship and falling in love, which was sort of how we begun, y'know? And we're maybe sort of back to the friendship thing now, though not really. We'll never really be friends I don't think.

"And you said orange at first glance, right?" Ian nodded. "An orange rose symbolises, um, let's see.. enthusiasm, desire and fascination." Mickey paused, then looked away from the flower and up into Ian's eyes. "The first day I saw you changed my life. That might sound cliché and cheesy, but it's true. It was strange, because up until then I thought I had my entire life mapped out in front of me, but then I met you and everything was different. The first time I laid eyes on you was the first day of school. You were down the hall struggling with your locker and I remember thinking you were so different to everyone else. You move with this—this grace, this elegance and style and fluidity that no one else moves with.

"I remember thinking that you would probably end up inside your locker by the time the day was out and I also remember thinking there was something inexplicably interesting about you, something that just caught my attention and I had no idea why. Or maybe I just didn't want to admit it to myself, I don't know. I remember thinking I was sick, my stomach felt empty and hollow and I felt dizzy and I didn't want to slushie you. I thought about how you must have spent hours getting your hair as perfect as it was and that one slushie would mean hours of styling to precision would just go to waste and I didn't want to do it. I did it because that was what I thought I was supposed to do, because they were grinning at me, their eyes urging me to do it. I regretted it the moment I did it. I've regretted it every day since.

"I remember your eyes were what caught my attention, I mean, don't get me wrong, you're beautiful, you are, but you have these—these _eyes_ that are never just one colour. They're every colour under the sun, yet somehow I can still pin point them as blue. I remember thinking you had these really piercing blue eyes that seemed to plead with me not to do it, and I almost didn't. I almost turned around and walked away because I didn't want those brilliant blue eyes to become red rimmed and watery from the damned slushie. After everyone left, I went back for the schedule and I took it away with me, because you were this big mystery to me and I wanted to solve you, figure you out. I had Lip give me your details and I slipped that clean schedule inside your locker and I watched. I watched you when it fell out and hit the ground. I watched you jump back in surprise and I wondered what you must have gone through that had you so jumpy, but when you saw what it was and that someone had taken their time to do that for you, you were pleasantly surprised, touched even and that gave me this crazy thrill, to know that I'd maybe made you smile for that split second.

"Then I saw that we had class together. I've been in Mrs Flynn's class for years and she does the same thing, every year. She pairs us with the person next to us. I knew that no one would sit with you, Ian. I knew how many students were in that class. I knew that the only empty seat would be next to you, so I hid out in the toilets until everyone was in class, then I went and found that I was right. I was going to get paired with you and I don't know what I hoped to gain from that, but I knew I just—I had to do it, you know?"

"You—you planned that?" Ian exclaimed and Mickey nodded.

"Yeah, I just—I wanted to be near you," he said. "Then we met up and you seemed to figure me out without even knowing me and then I found myself thinking about you all the time. Like, every second of the day. I would go to sleep thinking about you at night. I'd wake up in the morning and all I would see was those blue eyes. Everything was you. I was—I was _obsessed,_ and that's where the fascination comes in. Enthusiasm because every time I saw you, there was something within me that just felt—I don't know— _excited,_ because you were so new and amazing and intriguing to me and I just wanted to know everything about you. Orange roses are fascination, enthusiasm and desire. I think desire pretty much speaks for itself. I wanted you. I tried to fight it, but it wouldn't go away. Like the song said, _these feelings won't go away_ and yeah, they were knocking me sideways, they still are. I gave in that night after Iggy's party. I did exactly what I wanted to you and you weren't pushing me away and that was crazy to me, that after everything, you would still let me touch you.

"I know that I'm only supposed to take the one, true meaning into account when I look at this rose, but just listen to me," Mickey smiled a bit. "A single rose of any colour, symbolises gratitude and God, am I grateful to you, for you, too. You helped me embrace who I really am and you took the time to give a damn about me, something no one else had ever done. And you're the best thing that's ever happened to me, so yeah, I'm grateful for you.

"There are red tips—they look orange, but they're red," Mickey showed him. "Red roses mean courage, beauty, love, passion and 'I love you'," he smiled. "Who's more courageous than you are, Ian? No one. Beauty? Who's more beautiful than you are? Also no one. Love and passion? Speaks for themselves, really. And 'I love you'? Well, I love you, don't I? I love you and I want you to know that I do. I love you.

"And finally, a yellow rose symbolises jealousy, promise of a new beginning, 'I care' and 'remember me'," Mickey's golden eyes met Ian's glistening blue ones. "Jealousy because every time someone looks at you—and they do a lot—I get jealous. I know you don't notice, but they do, everyone stares at you. You have this way of moving that just draws attention—not to mention those sinfully tight pants," Mickey smirked. "I just want to wrap you up in my arms and let everyone know you're mone—which, you're not any more, but it's just what I've always wanted to do. Promise of a new beginning, because, well, look at the road ahead of you. You've got so much going for you. You're going to make it all the way to the top, Ian," Mickey smiled and Ian saw the gleam in his eyes. "'I care', because I do. I care. I love you and I care about you and if I had to risk everything else in the whole world just to keep you safe, I'd do it in a heart beat.

"Finally, 'remember me'. I know you're going out to New York and that you're going to be surrounded by all these amazingly artsy, talented guys who are—let's face it—gonna want you really badly, because you're pretty perfect. I know that you'll find someone and yes, that hurts, but I've accepted that that's how it has to be. I'm going to be a distant memory to you, but I just—I want you to remember me, even if it's only distantly," Mickey told him. "I want you to look back in like, ten years and remember that guy who took your virginity, then freaked out and made you cry and on your birthday, no less. I kind of want you to look back and think how you did love me and i loved you, but that you're better off where you are, that you took the right road, because I made you cry and I hurt you. I don't want you to ever regret what you're doing. I still want you to remember me, though. I want you to remember something, even if it's bad. I don't want to be forgotten in your life, Ian."

Ian chuckled, but his voice broke. "I could ever forget you, you idiot," he told him, reaching across and taking his hand. "I love you more than anything, there's no forgetting you, not when you make me feel like you do."

Mickey grinned, then. "Okay," he nodded. "Good. So, that's the meaning behind this," Mickey told him, handing him the flower again. "I want you to keep the bracelet, Ian. I want you to know that I could be a decent person every once in a while. I just—please keep it. You don't even have to wear it."

Ian shook his head and scrambled to root in his pocket, to retrieve the bracelet. He took it out and handed it to Mickey, who was watching him with questioning eyes. Ian held out his wrist and after a couple of seconds of silence, Mickey clasped the bracelet around his wrist.

"So, um, about prom," Mickey said, quickly. "I know that for the most part, it seems like all I want to do is take your clothes off and I'm not going to lie, I love taking your clothes off, but that's not what it was about for me. I love you, Ian and maybe you're sick of hearing me tell you that, but I don't know another way to express how I feel about you. Saying that I love you doesn't feel enough, but I don't know how else to do it. So, yeah, sometimes I got a little carried away and I slipped my hands down your pants when I wasn't supposed to, but above all, this was about us falling in love, being in love, staying in love, wanting to love each other, but not being able to. Every second spent with you made me ecstatically happy. You see me like no one else does and sometimes, I think I see you like no one else sees you, too. Soon, we're going to be too far away from one another and phone calls and emails and letters will get lost among the rush of life and then when we finally do see each other, it'll be awkward nods and how've you beens and you look goods, when all I'll ever want to do is kiss you again.

"Which is why I want you to come to prom with me," Mickey nodded. "I want to have another night with you, a night that means something big. I want this final night with you and that doesn't mean you have to sleep with me, or kiss me, or even hold my hand. It just means you come with me and we have a good time together," Mickey smiled. "The other reason I want you to come is that I know you won't go if someone doesn't take you. I know you won't go alone. And you deserve to go to your senior prom, Ian. I mean, I'm not going to go if you say no, but I think we should do it. I think we should do it for us. So, before you say no, think about all that. Think about it and get back to me."

Ian was laughing then and Mickey was staring at him with one eye brow raised.

"I was going to say yes in the first place," Ian told him.

"You..." Mickey trialed off. "You let me go through all that and you were going to say yes?"

Ian nodded and reached across for Mickey's hand. "Sorry," he smiled. "But that was a pretty convincing speech and thank you. I didn't know all of that. I love you."

"So, you'll come?"

"Yeah, I'll come," Ian smiled. "But you need to promise me you'll stay somewhere tonight. I know you won't come back to my house, but God knows you should, but at least go somewhere, Mickey, away from the cold."

"Okay, sure," Mickey nodded, eagerly. "Yes, I'll go somewhere, I promise. Just.. You know this doesn't mean we're back together, just that I want another day with you, one last proper day. I mean, we'll have days after this, but this is big and I wouldn't want to spend it with anyone else."

"I understand," Ian told him. "I don't want to leave you, Mickey," Ian sighed and lay back, not caring about the grass stains that were probably going to be all over his white pants. "I try to think of all these ways around it, taking you with me, not going, begging them to take you, too, but every pro has two cons."

"I know," Mickey said, laying down next to him. "I've thought about it, too. I just feel like it all seems so surreal, you know? Like I could never do it, never leave here, even though that's all I've ever wanted. I feel like I have so many things I need to fix first before I can even think about going anywhere else. And you, you've got to go. I refuse to watch you stay here because of me and if you do that, I'll leave you anyway."

Ian chuckled. "I'm going," he assured him.

"I know," Mickey said, sadly.

They stayed silent then, just listening to the soft hum of the breeze, then Ian leaned up and flipped himself on to his stomach, then propped himself up on his elbows so that he could see Mickey properly.

"Hey," he said, looking into those big, bright eyes. "I know you think you love me more than I love you, because I haven't really made it very vocal and I don't show it nearly as much as I should," he began. "But trust me, I love you every bit as much as you love me."

Mickey reached up and tugged Ian down until he was half on top of him. "I know that," he apprised him. "It's funny, because my whole life literally fell down around me, yet the only thing that really irks me is the entire situation between us. You're the thing that's on my mind all the time. Screw being homeless, family-less, prospect-less, everything else-less. All I give a damn about it how I'm probably never going to see you again once you leave and that hurts more than any of the rest."

Ian leaned down and pressed a light kiss to his lips. "Was I not supposed to do that?"

"No," Mickey said, lips upturning.

"Should I do it again?"

"Definitely," Mickey smiled as Ian's lips came down to meet his again.

"So, prom," Ian said, once they'd broken apart.

"Yeah," Mickey smiled. "Prom."

"You'd better show me a good time," Ian teased.

"Ian Gallagher," Mickey smirked, his cool fingers sliding up the back of Ian's shirt, slowly. "Don't I _always_ show you a good time?"

Ian shivered and swallowed hard as Mickey's hands came down on his warm skin and his lips reached up and found his neck. Ian felt him sucking his skin into his mouth and he gasped a little.

" _Mickey._ "

"I'm losing you soon, but until then," Mickey breathed. "I want people to know you're mine, even if you're technically not mine at the moment."

Ian blinked a couple of times, then reached down and pulled Mickey's head gently upwards, until his teeth were grazing Ian's neck. Mickey made a sound that sounded as if he was questioning Ian.

Ian gave him a small shrug and pressed his neck down to Mickey's swelled lips, then he whispered in Mickey's ear.

" _I'm always yours_."


	31. Chapter 31

**Chapter 31:**

"Are you sure it's a good idea?" Mercedes asked, sounding sceptical.

Ian sighed. "Mercedes," he said. "I love him and he loves me. Of course, I'm sure."

"Well, okay," Mercedes said. "You still have time to turn him down if you change your mind."

"It's _prom_ , not a wedding," Ian shook his head and pressed the phone to his other ear. "Anyway, he's been turned down by everyone lately; His mom, his dad, _life._ I'm not going to turn him down, too. Besides, _I_ _want to go._ Why is it a bad thing that I want to go to prom with the guy I love? Mickey and I don't have forever, we're going to make the most of what little time we do have."

Mercedes was silent for a few seconds, then she sighed. "You're right," she told him. "I just don't want you getting hurt."

"Not possible," Ian assured her, because it was true. He was hurting enough already. Another night with Mickey wasn't going to make it any worse than it already was.

* * *

"'Morning, Mickey!" Carole Hudson said, cheerily, when Mickey walked into the kitchen before school. "I hope you slept okay."

Mickey gave Carole a broad smile. Carole had been so welcoming when Finn had convinced Mickey to come and stay over at his house for a while. He could see why Ian's dad would like her and she looked nothing like Finn in a dress, which was comforting.

"I slept really well, actually," he told Carole. "Thanks again for letting me stay here."

Mickey had slept better than he had slept in a long time. The last time he had slept so well was when he had stayed at Ian's. Since then, he had been staying at various members of the glee club's houses, which he was grateful for, but he hadn't really gotten a good night's sleep at any of them.

"No problem," Carole grinned. "Have a seat. What would you like to eat? Or—Yes, I'll just put some different things on the table and you can take whatever you want. That's what I do with Finn. He eats like a horse," she said with a chuckle, as she turned away and opened a cupboard.

Mickey sat down and Finn walked into the room, yawning. "G'mornin'," he said and came and sat down next to Mickey. He looked up at him, as he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. "I forgot you were here—not that it's bad that you're here! I just—forgot, is all."

"I get it, Finn," Mickey said, smiling a little.

Carole came back to the table, an ear-to-ear grin spread across her face. She placed a plate piled with pancakes on the centre of the table, then went away and came back with plates, knives, forks and spoons. She walked back into the kitchen once more and came back with bowls and cereal.

"Is there anything else you'd like?" she asked, hands on her hips. "Anything at all?"

It was funny how everyone else's parents could be supportive of Mickey and his right to love whoever the hell he wanted, when his own didn't.

* * *

"I'm sick of you gays," Iggy told Ian when he stopped at Ian's locker. "Why are there so many of you?"

Ian rolled his eyes and then turned around to face Iggy, Karofsky and Azimio. "You realise your cousin is gay, don't you, Iggyerman?" Ian pointed out. "I mean, you seem perfectly fine with him being gay, yet everyone else seems to offend you."

Iggy stared at Ian, open-mouthed for a few moments, Karofsky looked uncomfortable and Azimio just looked angry, as usual.

"Th-that's different!" Iggy argued. "I've known Kenny forever!"

"You've known Mickey forever." Iggy was silenced again, then after a few seconds, he began stammering, trying to make his argument convincing, but Ian only sighed and shook his head. "You can't have one rule for one and a separate rule for another, it doesn't work like that. If you want to continue to call me names and toss me in dumpsters, okay, cool, that's great, but Mickey was your _friend_. You've been friends for _years._ Don't you feel anything?"

"But he used to like girls and now he likes dick—"

"I've always liked dick, Iggyerman."

Ian turned around and saw Mickey walking towards him, a small smile on his face. Mickey tore his eyes off Iggy and looked at Ian. "Hey," he said, happily. "You look amazing, as always. Are those new jeans? Cute." Ian gaped at him as he turned back to Iggy again. "What were we talking about again?"

When Iggy didn't respond, Mickey looked back at Ian, eyes urging him to speak. "Um," Ian began. "You liking dick, I believe."

Mickey smiled with amusement at Ian's slight blush, then looked back at Iggy. "The thing is, Noah," Mickey started. "I've always been gay, I just wasn't vocal about it and because you didn't know, you were fine with me as a person. What you need to sit back and think about is the fact that I'm still the exact same person now as I was before I came out. Not that I would actually want to be your friend again. I just thought I would point that out."

Ian nodded in agreement. He felt proud of Mickey for being able to stand up and say that. He thought about how he had been at the beginning, how he had been far too afraid to even admit everything to himself, let alone the rest of the world, how he had had these seemingly unbreakable walls built up around himself and wouldn't allow anyone get too close in case they tried to break them down. Now, he was brave, proud, sure about who he was.

Right when Ian was about to leave him.

"Let's get to class," Mickey said, taking Ian's elbow in his hand and steering him away from Iggy, Azimio and Karofsky. "I know those jeans aren't new, by the way," Mickey told him once they were down the hall and around the corner. "Don't think I don't notice."

Ian smiled. "Are you saying I'm an outfit repeater, Mickey Milkovich?"

"Hey, I'm not _that_ brave!"

* * *

Ian stopped still outside the girl's changing room. Soft sobs filled the air and he strained to listen, to make sure he had actually heard something. He stood stuck to the spot for another couple of heart beats, then pushed the door open, carefully and walked inside. The changing room was empty, but the sobs grew louder as he advance down the narrow aisles. He stopped at the end of the aisle when he saw Quinn Fabray, curled into the corner of a bench, her face buried in her hands, her blonde hair untidy and coming loose from its band.

"Quinn?" he said.

Quinn looked up and shot him an angry look when she realised who he was. "Go away, Gallagher."

"What's wrong?" Ian sat down, ignoring her demands for him to leave.

"Everything!" she exploded. "I got kicked off the cheerios, kicked out of my house, kicked out of my post at the top of the—the foodchain, I turned my boyfriend gay and I'm pregnant with Iggy's baby! The better and simpler question here is what is right? I could answer that much faster, because _nothing is right_!"

Ian frowned, his body surging with pity for her. She was awful most of the time, but no one deserved what she was going through. "Quinn," Ian said. "You didn't turn Mickey gay. He's always been gay." He thought it was ironic that that had been pointed out twice today. "I know that's no huge consolation, because you have bigger worries."

"Oh, you think?" she snapped.

Ian sighed, tiredly. "Would you consider coming back to glee club?" he found himself asking. "No one there will judge you, Quinn. If you're nice to us, we'll be nice to you. You've got a lot going on, you could do with some support."

She looked up at Ian, her thin eye brows knitting. Her eyes were swollen and red-rimmed and her cheeks were tear stained. "You think singing and dancing is going to help me?"

"Maybe not," Ian uttered. "But I think having people around you who aren't going to point and stare will help you. Consider it?"

She was silent for a long time, only small sniffles escaping her lips. "They hate me," she said, finally.

"Only because you hate them."

"I don't even know them."

"And they don't know you," Ian pointed out. "Look, I now you only joined in the first place to keep an eye on Mickey, but come back for you, Quinn. You can actually sing, too, so that's bonus. Nationals is soon and we could do with more singers. What do you say?"

"Why are you being nice to me?"

"Because I know what it's like to feel like no one cares, like you have no one to turn to and what it's like to feel as if you've let a parent down. I know what it's like to be judged for who you are and the mistakes you've made and I know what it's like to lose something you just can't afford to lose."

"Did I make you feel like that?" she asked, timidly.

"No, your insults sucked," Ian said, with a smile and much to his surprise, Quinn smiled back.

* * *

"She's back in glee?" Mickey muttered next to Ian, when Quinn walked through the choir room door, her eyes cautious and unsure.

"I may have convinced her to come back," Ian whispered.

"What?" Mickey said, incredulously. " _Why?_ "

Ian shrugged. "She needs people around her. Sometimes, we all do, no matter how often we try to deny it."

* * *

Mr Schuester quietened the glee club down after Rachel and Santana were done having a heated discussion about solos for Nationals. Ian sighed, tiredly. While Rachel was irrefutably talented, others deserved a solo, too. Her arguments for why she should be the only soloist were becoming tedious and he wasn't nearly skilled enough at shutting her voice out as he would have liked.

"Mickey," Mr Schue said, then. "You wanted to say something?"

Ian gave Mickey a quizzical stare, which he ignored, as he climbed to his feet and went towards the front of the choir room. He stood by the piano and everyone watched him in silence. Ian had no idea what this could possibly be about.

"I never really got a chance to thank you all, for everything," he began. "Especially for what you've done for me in the past few weeks. I've had nowhere to go." He stopped, eyes lingering on Ian, then went on. "Well, not entirely true, but I had nowhere to go that didn't make things harder than they already were. You've all shown me nothing but kindness and that's amazing to me. Lately, it's been hard. All I've gotten has been abuse and rejection and—a bunch of other negative things, but not here. You've all been so supportive and—well. The only real friends I've got—the only _family_ I've got. I know I've been horrible to each and every one of you before and I'm truly sorry, even though that doesn't begin to make up for every awful thing I've done. You accepted me, even after that and that means the world to me, so just—thank you."

Ian found himself smiling, his head tilted, studying Mickey as he walked awkwardly back to his seat.

"Is he okay?" Mercedes whispered in Ian's ear.

"Yeah," he nodded. "Yeah, he's—he's fine, Ian assured her, but he just wasn't sure how true that was.

"Thanks, Mickey," Mr Schuester grinned. "We're lucky to have you."

Mickey gave a small nod and dropped his eyes to his lap. Ian reached across and gave Mickey's shaking hand a squeeze. Mickey raised his copper eyes to Ian's bright blue ones. Ian only smiled harder, which resulted in Mickey smiling back. Ian didn't let his hand go until it was time to go home.

* * *

"Is everything okay?" Ian asked Mickey over the phone later that day.

"Yeah," Mickey said. "I mean, other than the very obvious, I'm okay."

"Just okay."

"Just okay," Mickey clarified, which made Ian frown slightly.

"Anything I can do?" Ian asked.

"You have done more than enough for me," Mickey said and Ian could hear him smiling sadly on the other end. "I'll be okay. You just concentrate on getting yourself ready for when you leave and for prom and Nationals, obviously. I'll concentrate on getting myself ready for the same things. Trust me, I'll be okay."

Ian knew he was just trying to make him feel better, but it wasn't working. He smiled anyway. "I love you, you know that?"

"I know," Mickey told him. "I love you, too."

"Even though I'm leaving you when you need me most?"

"Especially for that," Mickey said.

"I don't get it," Ian furrowed his eyebrows.

"Maybe not right now," Mickey told him. "But you will."

* * *

"Why is he picking you up?" Frank asked. "I mean, I get it when the guy picks the girl up, but what happens when it's two guys? Does that make you the girl? because I don't like that, if he's making you out to be the girl."

"Dad," Ian said, quickly. "It's not like that. He's picking me up because he's the one with the high bank balance."

"Oh."

Ian went back to styling his hair in the mirror. He lifted his hairspray can and held his finger down, before spraying his entire head. His dad coughed a little from the other side of the room.

"You're going to die in your sleep if you keep spraying that stuff."

"I've been using it for years," Ian smiled. "Yet here I stand, still breathing."

"It'll fry your brain," Frank told him, but he was smiling. His smiled faded then. "Are you sure about what you're wearing?"

Ian sighed. His dad had asked him that at least twelve times already that day. He had made his own outfit, complete with a kilt. He loved it, he was proud of it, but his dad was relentless. Ian knew he was just worried about how others would react, but he didn't care. He was out of there soon and he wanted to make an impression, that's what fashion was all about, after all.

"Everything will be fine, dad," Ian assured him. "Trust me."

"I do," Frank informed him. "It's just—not everyone is nice, Ian."

"You think I don't know that?" he asked. "I do remember all those times I ended up in hospital, believe it or not." He stopped then, because he had snapped for no real reason. "Sorry," he muttered. "I just—it's going to be okay. I know you're worried but it will. Mickey and I have got this. We can handle ourselves."

"Okay," Frank said, sounding not at all convinced. "I'll go back upstairs. I'll shout down when Mickey gets here."

Ian nodded. "Okay, thanks."

Frank lingered there for another moment. "You look good, kid," he said. "I—have a good time, okay?"

Ian turned to face his dad and smiled a broad, full-toothed smile. "I will."

* * *

Mickey rapped on the front door of Ian's house and waited. For some reason, his heart was beating wildly in his chest. It shouldn't have been. He had been at Ian's house several times and he had met Frank just as many times. He shouldn't have been nervous at all.

It felt like a life time before the door opened and Frank stood there, holding his cap in his hands. "Oh, hey, Mickey," he said and stood back to let Mickey in. Mickey walked inside and Frank shut the door. "Ian's downstairs, still getting ready, if you wanna go on down."

"Thanks," Mickey grinned, then headed for the stairs to Ian's room. He walked slowly down the steps, still inexplicably nervous.

When he reached the bottom, he stopped in the doorway. Ian was studying himself in the mirror, his nose scrunching up a bit as he tweaked his hair. Mickey's eyes roved over him and stopped when he realised what he was wearing.

"Is that—you're wearing.."

Ian shot around, quickly. "How long have you been standing there?"

Mickey walked inside, eyes still locked on Ian's lower half. "You're wearing a.."

"Kilt, Mickey," Ian clarified. "Not a skirt, or a dress, or whatever you were going to say. It's a _kilt._ "

Mickey gave a slow nod. "I know," he told him. "I just meant that—you look good. Better than good. Amazing. Better than amazing." He paused. "What's better than amazing?"

"Um," Ian thought for a moment. "I don't know. What's better than amazing?"

"You," Mickey joked. "But honestly, you look gorgeous."

Ian blushed a little and Mickey fought the urge to roll his eyes, because it never ceased to amaze him how Ian had no idea how perfect he was.

"So do you," Ian told him, coming closer. Mickey swallowed. "Is this a bad idea?" Ian asked.

"Definitely," Mickey said, eyes falling down to Ian's legs. "Definitely a bad idea."

"Why?"

"Because we're supposed to be broken up," Mickey informed him. "Yet all I can think about is how badly I want to kiss you..." he trailed off and his voice dropped. "Among other things.."

"I wouldn't stop you," Ian said, coming closer still. "If you kissed me." He was within touching distance now. "Among other things.." he added, with a small smirk.

"This suit is rented," Mickey told him. "I wouldn't want to have to pay for any damage done to the pants."

"Guess I'll have to resist the urge to tear them off, then," Ian chuckled. "Are we going to go, or are you going to stay here all day ogling me?"

"Is that an option?"

"You wore the red tipped yellow rose," Ian beamed, eyes locked on the rose pinned to Mickey's lapel.

"Of course," Mickey smiled "You did, too."

"Obviously. Come on," Ian smiled and slipped his hand in Mickey's. Mickey's skin danced at his touch. "Let's go show you off."

"This is a bad idea," Mickey uttered as he followed Ian up the stairs. He slowed down, wondering what Ian had on under that kilt.

"Only if you keep doing that," Ian said.

"Can you blame me?"

"Yes," Ian nodded. "It's entirely your fault," he smiled.

They had reached the top of the stairs now. "I'm not the one that wore an outfit that made my butt look like the hottest thing since—ever."

Ian turned and looked at him, his ice blue gaze running slowly over him, making him shiver all over. He raised his blue eyes to his and gave him a slow smile.

"I beg to differ."


	32. Chapter 32

**Chapter 32:**

"Would you be horribly offended if I got slightly intoxicated tonight?"

Ian's piercing blue eyes were on him in a flash, one eyebrow cocked, his mouth set in a thin line. "Define 'slightly intoxicated'," Ian challenged.

Mickey sat back against the cool leather of the rented limo and shrugged. "Drunk enough that it will make me forget the horrible tragedy that is my life," he began. "Yet sober enough that I will still be capable of telling you how good you look."

"Flattery will get you—um, everywhere," Ian smiled a bit. "But you can't hide behind the alcohol forever, you know."

Mickey sighed. "'Guess I can't," he said. "My living arrangements make it very tempting, however."

"Where are you staying now?"

"Hotel."

Ian looked at him, quizzically. "Really?"

"Really," Mickey clarified. "And not just any hotel, a _five star hotel._ I am going to continue to use my father's money until it runs out, at which point I will go to him and tell him it has run out and he will be forced to give me more, because I have the power to tell the whole high class scene that Milkovich has a gay son. I guess being a disgrace to your family has its perks."

Mickey felt Ian's fingers entwining with his own and he took comfort in the small gesture. "Have you spoken to either of them yet?" Ian enquired. "Your parents, I mean?"

"No," Mickey told him. "But let's not talk about that, okay?"

"Whatever you want," Ian nodded. "I'm totally cool with you drinking, by the way. Just as long as I don't have to carry you back to your five star hotel."

"I," Mickey smirked. "Would not be opposed to that."

* * *

Ian could feel the burning glares as he walked through the doors of the school assembly hall. He was beginning to regret having worn the kilt, because while he was proud of it, of himself and who he was, he still didn't like the feeling that the open mouths and the judgmental stares gave him.

Iggy was standing a little away from the door and when he saw Ian's outfit, his eyes widened and his mouth opened as if he was about to speak, but he closed it again, lost for words.

"Quit ogling my date, Iggyerman," Mickey said, walking up next to Ian.

"I wasn't—"

"You were staring," Mickey pointed out.

"Only because he—well. He looks like—I mean—"

"He can't help it that he's pretty," Mickey gave Iggy a wink, then steered Ian away from him.

"I could have handled that," Ian told him, once they were a little further away. "I can take care of myself, you know."

"I am well aware of that," Mickey smiled. "But that was an opportunity I could not miss. You're more than pretty, by the way."

"And there you go with the flattery again," Ian chuckled.

"I mean it, though," Mickey said and he looked as if he meant it. The strobe lights were reflected in his bright, golden eyes and his smile reached them, making Ian's heart skip a beat. "I look at you and I think that the world must be playing a joke on me, because I had you and lost you and I'm losing you for good and God knows that no one else could ever come close. It's like having an ocean and then having that taken away from you and it being replaced with a puddle. It could never come close and it's like some sort of joke, like the world is laughing at you." Ian's smile dissipated as Mickey continued to speak. "It's as if the world is rolling on the ground in hysterics, because it's taking away my ocean and everything after that will be less than a puddle. I wish I could just climb closer to you and let you drown me, because I would rather drown in an ocean than slip into a puddle and come up wet and miserable. At least when you drown it's just over. Besides, don't they say you hear music when you drown?"

* * *

"Dude, I like your—ah, skirt thing," Finn told Ian, looking confused.

Ian thought about correcting him, but decided against it, because that would be a long, boring conversation for both of them. "Thanks, Finn. You look good."

"Thanks, man!" Finn grinned, lopsidedly. "Is Mickey here?"

"Um, yeah, he went to get some punch."

"But it's spiked," Finn said.

"Exactly," Ian nodded. Finn looked confused for a split second, then shrugged and walked on. Ian saw Mercedes and Rachel sitting down, so he went to talk to them.

"Ian, is that a kilt?" Rachel smiled, excitedly, when Ian reached the table. "That's amazing!"

* * *

"I'm going to go talk to her."

Mickey tugged him back and he turned and looked at him with accusing eyes. "Why?" Mickey asked.

Ian rolled his blue eyes. "She looks miserable."

"Stop being such a good person," Mickey said, but he was smiling. "Kidding. Go ahead. Go forth, St. Ian and save the world!"

"How much of that punch have you had?" Ian asked, one eyebrow raised.

"Obviously not enough," Mickey frowned. "Don't leave me alone for too long."

Ian's smile faded, because soon, he would be leaving Mickey alone, maybe forever.

* * *

"Quinn."

Dark green eyes lifted from the dark floor and met his. "Oh," she said. "You."

Ian ignored her non-welcoming manner and went closer to stand next to her. "Wanna come sit down? Everyone from glee is sitting at a table over there."

"I don't think so."

Ian nodded, slowly and studied her. Her bump was visible now, she hadn't even tried to hide it. Her dress was a dusty pink, made of chiffon. The material was rucked at the waist and other than that, it was very simple. It was a huge improvement on the Valentine's dress, that was for sure.

"I like this look," Ian told her.

"Cut the crap, Gallagher," Quinn said, tiredly. "I look like an obese flamingo."

Ian spluttered at that. "Wha—Quinn, you're not that bad. It's a baby, not a hippopotamous. You look good, I swear. I wouldn't lie about something like that."

Quinn rolled her eyes. "You gays and your fashion," she muttered.

"Come on, come sit with us," Ian urged. "You don't have to be alone."

Quinn said nothing, only stared off into the crowds of dancing students for a few moments, then she spoke, "Are we bonding because we've both had sex with Mickey?"

Ian scoffed. "Wow," he said. "This conversation just got exceptionally awkward for both of us."

* * *

"You wearing anything under that skirt, Gallagher?"

"You got anything inside that head of yours other than hot air, Kenneth?"

Kenny continued to smile, his dark as night eyes running slowly up and down Ian's body, making him feel uncomfortable. "You here with Milkovich?"

Ian nodded. "Here with Karofsky?"

Kenny grimaced then. "Not on your life," he informed him. "I'm flyin' solo tonight, Gallagher. Unless of course, you and that skirt of yours want to join me?"

"Not on _your_ life, Kenneth."

* * *

"Everything okay?" Mickey asked, once Ian had left Kenny and walked back to the table. He sank down into the seat next to Mickey and nodded.

"Everything is fine," Ian assured him, then frowned at the plastic cup in Mickey's hand. "You're still drinking that crap?"

Mickey shrugged and placed the half full—or was it half empty?—cup down on the table. "Not really," he muttered. "It tastes like glue."

"It both disturbs and amuses me that you know what glue tastes like," Ian said, a small smile playing on the corners of his lips. Ian reached across and laid a hand over Mickey's.

Mickey ignored the people who seemed to stare at them because of this small contact and instead, he kept his eyes on the crowded dance floor. He watched Mike and Tina, Mercedes and Sam, and Rory and Sugar Motta dancing together. He frowned and looked away, only to see Finn and Rachel kissing at the next table. Mickey rolled his eyes.

"What's wrong?" Ian asked.

He looked up. "Don't you think it's unfair that they can do that and nobody bats an eyelid?" he asked, gesturing at Finn and Rachel, who were still playing tonsil hockey. "And not just them, either. _Everyone._ Yet, we get that." He pointed at two girls staring at them and whispering to each other like it was the biggest gossip since Quinn Fabray got pregnant. "And all we're doing is holding hands."

"Well, yeah," Ian shrugged, slightly. "It's not fair and the world sucks, but that's just how it is."

Mickey shook his head. "But it shouldn't be," he said. "Know what?"

"What?"

"We should dance."

"Um, what?" Ian asked, eyes wide. "No, Mickey, that's—Mickey, we don't need to draw unnecessary attention to ourselves, that's—"

Mickey sat up and shifted his body in the chair, so that he was facing Ian. "What happened to the Ian Gallagher that walked down the hallways wearing sequins and boots, with his head held high and his confidence higher? What happened to the Ian Gallagher that's proud of who he is and what he does?" Mickey moved forward, Ian's blue eyes watching him carefully. "I get that you're worried about me, okay? I know that all this 'not attracting attention' is because of me, but just stop, okay? I'm tired of hiding, tired of pretending and I'm really tired of acting like the fact that we like boys— _that we like each other_ —means there's something wrong with us. _There isn't._ So, you can sit here looking pretty, with those baby blues downcast, or you can stand up and dance with me and show them that _we don't care_ what they think. What's it going to be?"

Ian tilted his head sideways, then smiled. "Admit it, you just want to show people you've got the best dressed date at the prom," Ian teased.

"Of course," Mickey smiled, then held out a hand to Ian. "Dance with me?"

"I'm going to show you up, you know," Ian smiled, taking Mickey's hand and standing up. "I can shake my hips like it's nobody's business."

"Oh, I've seen your hips in action, trust me," Mickey chuckled and they walked across the floor.

It was the most ridiculous thing, what happened then. It was like in movies, when the couple graced the floor, the couple that were just friends, who had decided to dance together, and then a slow song came over the speakers and they were forced to continue their way on to the floor anyway, regardless of how awkward it made things. Mickey felt Ian go rigid next to him, so he gave his hand a small squeeze.

"'Doesn't change a thing," Mickey told him. He felt Ian squeeze back, then and he smiled and stopped on the dance floor. He turned to face Ian and gave him the smallest of nods.

 _Okay?_

Ian gave a slight inclination of his head in response.

 _Okay._

Mickey took a step forward and closed the space between them.

"I've never done this before," Ian uttered.

"Never mind," Mickey said, pulling him closer, his arms curling around his waist. "I have a feeling you'll be amazing."

The soft music flitted through the humid air and Mickey's heart beat sped up. He could feel Ian's breath warm against his ear and he felt nervous, not because of the watchful eyes of the other students, but because Ian just felt so right, slotted into his arms, swaying there. His heart was hammering in his chest and he was sure Ian could feel it, too. Mickey shifted his body a little and his breath came out in stutters.

"What's wrong?" Ian whispered, sending electric shocks all through his body.

"Nothing," Mickey told him and it was the truth. At that moment, nothing was wrong, nothing in Mickey's whole, wide world was wrong at all.

"You're shaking," Ian uttered.

Oh. He was shaking? He _was_ shaking. He cleared his throat a bit and fastened his arms tighter around Ian's waist.

"I'm fine, I promise," he told him. "You just—you make me nervous."

Ian leaned back a bit, his blue eyes finding Mickey's golden-brown ones. "Nervous?" he asked, curiously. "I never made you nervous before."

"You've been making me nervous since the first moment I set eyes on you," Mickey told him, quietly. "You're perfect."

Ian's eyes lit up then, because he smiled and crushed his body back to Mickey's. "I love you," Ian whispered, so quietly that Mickey wasn't sure he had actually said anything.

"And I love you," Mickey told him and Ian came closer, still, even though Mickey didn't think that was possible.

Ian's arms were draped around his neck and Mickey's head was on Ian's shoulder and he wished they could just stay like that forever, lost in the slow, steady rhythm of the music and the fast, uneven beats of their hearts. Ian smelled like soap and something sweet, something Mickey couldn't place. He breathed in his scent and wondered at what point he would forget what Ian smelled like. He thought about the fact that in the future, someone else would be breathing in that scent, someone else would slow dance with him, someone else would hold him in their arms and whisper in his ear and he would love them and they would love him.

They would never love him as much as Mickey loved him, of that he was more than sure.

"Are you okay?" Ian asked.

"I don't know how to let you go," Mickey said, before he could stop himself. That was a selfish thing to say and it would make Ian feel bad about leaving, but he couldn't control how he felt.

"You don't have to," Ian said. "At least, not yet. The song is only just kicking off."

And that was when the slow, wispy music slowed and the song begun and it was slow, too and Ian tightened his grip on him and Mickey was glad that he did, because he felt as if he might crumple to the round and break into a million separate glass particles and he didn't want that, he just wanted to hold on to Ian for as long as was humanly possible.

 _Oh, Florida, please be still tonight,_

 _Don't disturb this love of mine,_

 _Look how she's so serene,_

 _You've gotta help me out._

He closed his eyes and breathed Ian in again and he was caught between wanting to laugh until his ribs hurt, because of how happy he was an wanting to cry his eyes out, because everything was so beautiful and this feeling would soon be a distant memory, lost in the past, only slivers of it left imprinted on the mind for the rest of their lives.

 _And count the stars to form the lines,_

 _And find the words, we'll sing in time,_

 _I want to keep her dreaming,_

 _It's my one wish, I won't forget this._

He felt as if his breathing was constricted, his throat dry, his chest feeling tight. He opened his mouth, his lips dry and sticking to one another, and took a long, deep breath, trying to get some air into his lungs, but all it did was help a hidden sob come to surface, slipping from his mouth like an animal escaping from the zoo; Unwanted and dangerous.

 _I'm outdated, overrated,_

 _Morning seems so far away._

He wondered what his life would have been like if Ian hadn't walked into McKinley High that day, wondered if he would still be hiding behind that mask, still pretending, still unaware of who he truly was. He owed everything to the boy in his arms, this boy that he wanted to keep with him forever, but couldn't, because life was picking him up and lifting him far away from him. For now, they just had to take every moment as it came.

 _So I'll sing a melody,_

 _And hope to God she's listening,_

 _Sleeping softly while I sing,_

 _And I'll be your memories,_

 _Your lullaby for all the times,_

 _Hoping that my voice could get it right._

Mickey pulled him closer, as close as he could and tried to whisper in his ear that he loved him, but all that came was an uneven breath. Ian gave a small nod and Mickey knew that Ian knew what he had been trying to say. He felt Ian's arms pulling tighter and he wanted this forever, needed it, needed to have him with him until there was nothing left in the world, but the two of them, because nothing else really mattered to him, all of the other things he was dealing with were minor in comparison to what he had to let go. He didn't want it to be a memory, he wanted it to be forever.

 _If luck is on my side tonight,_

 _My clumsy tongue will make it right,_

 _And wrists that touch,_

 _It isn't much, but it's enough._

 _To form imaginary lines,_

 _Forget your scars, we'll forget mine,_

 _The hours change so fast,_

 _Oh, God, please make this last._

The chorus came back around and Mickey thought about all the things he didn't yet know about Ian, all the things he never would know. They hadn't known each other for long, not nearly as long as Mickey would have liked. He knew a lot about Ian, his little habits, the way he liked things to be just so, what his coffee order was, but there were so many things he didn't know, too and his stomach twisted when he realised he would never know everything, would never get the chance to watch him grow in life, to see him make it all the way to top, like Mickey knew he would. It sent his head spinning, so he shut his eyes tighter and Ian held him close.

 _You could crush me,_

 _Please don't crush me,_

 _'Cause baby, I'm a dreamer, for sure,_

 _And I won't let you down,_

 _I swear, this time, I mean it._

Ian pressed his warm lips to the side of Mickey's head, almost as if to comfort him in some way. He had to have felt how conflicted he was in his arms. Mickey wanted to apologise, but the words didn't come and as the music faded away, Ian raised his head and their eyes met. Mickey shook his head, no words. Ian smiled, sadly, too much to say, but not knowing where to begin. Mickey stared into the blue-ness of those eyes and he saw them glistening, the tears threatening to fall. He didn't want Ian to cry, so he forced himself to smile and then spoke the only words he could speak that were completely and utterly true.

"I'm pretty sure I've never been more in love with you than I am at this very moment."

* * *

"I shouldn't have asked you to this stupid prom."

Ian's heart stilled in his chest and he sat down next to Mickey, who looked dejected and exhausted. "Um, what?" Ian asked. "Ten minutes ago you were more in love with me than ever."

"I lied."

"Uh, okay?"

"I'm more in love with you now than I was ten minutes ago, so I lied. Unintentionally, of course, but it's a lie all the same," Mickey said, eyes on his hands. "I shouldn't have asked you, because it makes everything worse."

Ian let his shoulders slump, relieved, but his breath was still caught in his throat. He understood what Mickey meant, he just wished more than anything that things were different. Ian reached across and took Mickey's hand in his own. He resisted the urge to flash his middle finger at the guy two table over that was watching them like they were performing chimps at a circus. Mickey looked up, eyes full of curiosity.

"When you asked me to come with you, you said you wanted us to go so that we could have one more night together, a night that meant something," Ian said. "Every night—hell, _every moment_ —with you means something big. It's going to get worse before it gets better, Mickey, regardless of whether or not we went to prom together. I'm still going to miss you every second I'm gone and you're still going to miss me, too. Come on, sit up straight. Don't let this get in the way of your fun."

Mickey sighed and sat up. He scooted his chair closer to Ian's and took his hand between his own hands. "If they vote either of us in for prom queen, we're both leaving without a word, okay?"

Ian chuckled. "Deal."

Mickey was stroking Ian's knuckles, slowly, with his finger tips. "I wish I was drunker."

"Yeah, you've been sipping cups of that crap all night," Ian said. "Why are you sober?"

"Because I've been drinking water all night."

Ian reached across and took the plastic cup in front of Mickey and peered inside. He raised it to his nose and sniffed. "Water," he said, quietly. "But—I don't understand."

"I didn't want to get wasted tonight," Mickey shrugged. "I meant it when I said I wanted to remember tonight. I thought about it on the way here, about getting drunk out of my mind, because the world is against me in basically all aspects of my life, but then I looked at you under those stupid lights and you were smiling at me, like you were giving me permission to forget about how horrible everything is, on the night that we were supposed to remember forever, because you understood, and I just couldn't do it. I couldn't stare into those blue eyes and let myself get too drunk to be able to really stare into them and see all those colours and emotions you keep locked up in there. So, I just pretended I was drinking, because I told you I would, which is stupid, now that I think about it, but—I don't know. It made sense at the time."

Ian sighed. "Why can't I have you forever?"

"But you do have me forever," Mickey said. "You told me once that you'd always be mine. That works both ways. I'm yours forever, whether you like it, or not, I'm yours. 'Doesn't matter how far away you are."

"Promise me you won't ever try to stop yourself from falling in love again, just because of me."

Ian watched as Mickey seemed to fight something internally, very, very briefly. He shook his head and looked away, staring at nothing in particular.

"I can't make that promise."

* * *

Mickey clapped half-heartedly when the prom king and queen were crowned. He didn't like either of them and barely knew their names. They were those people that all seemed to fall together into one category of people who were the same in Mickey's eyes, those people that he referred to as Scott (because everyone was called Scott) and Scott's girlfriend.

He was relieved that no one had pulled a stunt like they had at the Valentine's dance, because he wasn't in the mood to get into a fight at that moment. All he wanted to do was stare at Ian, because he wouldn't have much of a chance to do that once Ian was miles away from him.

He watched Ian smiling, talking with Mercedes. He threw his head back a bit, laughing at something she had said. He was blinking, those slow, pretty blinks, which still stunned Mickey, because how could anyone blink prettily? Somehow, Ian managed to do it, he managed to blink and Mickey would melt in seconds.

He smiled, then, when Ian turned to look at him, one thin, eyebrow raised, questioning him as to why he had been staring at him like that. Mickey shrugged one shoulder and Ian gave him a small smile, before turning back to Mercedes. Mickey knew he was beginning to sound like a lovesick puppy, but that didn't matter to him, because everything felt right when Ian smiled at him like that.

Loud music erupted through the speakers then and Ian's eyes were on him in a flash, a wide grin spread across his face.

 _Baby, when I met you there was peace unknown,_

 _I set out to get you with a fine toothcomb..._

It was freaking Islands in the God damned Stream. Mickey chuckled and shook his head.

"I think that's our cue to get out of here," Mickey told Ian.

"I think you're right."

"I've got an empty five-star hotel room, if you're interested," Mickey said, cocking one eyebrow.

"Well, lead the way," Ian smiled. "And hurry up, before the chorus kicks in."


	33. Chapter 33

**Chapter 33:**

"Proms," Ian declared, as they stepped inside the elevator up to Mickey's hotel room, which was on the sixth floor. "Are so overrated."

Mickey's liquid eyes fell on him, a flash of hurt hidden behind the dark, golden colour. "Did you hate it?"

Ian looked up at him. "No," he shook his head. "I just meant that there's all this hype built up beforehand, then you go and you realise you don't like half the people there and they don't like you and you just stay there for too many hours, feeling uncomfortable and wishing you had stayed home, but you don't want to leave in case something happens, but nothing does." Ian paused and Mickey was nodding, slowly and in silence. "I didn't mean you!" Ian said, quickly. "This has nothing to do with you. If you hadn't been there, I would have been bored out of my mind."

"I shouldn't have made you go."

"I agreed to going, remember?" Ian corrected. "Mickey, you've got to—" Ian stopped mid-sentence, because his phone started to vibrate in the inside pocket of his jacket. "Sorry," he mumbled, as he reached inside and pulled it out. "Dad" flashed across the screen and he hit the receive button. "Hello?"

"Ian?"

"Hi, dad," he said, glancing across at Mickey, who was staring at the buttons by the door that were lighting up one after the other, as they went up each floor.

"Having a good time?"

"I was just telling Mickey how despite proms being massively overrated," he looked sideways at Mickey, whose interest seemed to have grown, his eyes shifting to look across at Ian. "I actually had a great night. I mean, the décor was tacky and the finger food sucked, but it actually went really well. We even slow danced and no one called the hetero police!" Ian saw Mickey stifle a smile at that.

"That's great, Ian, real great," Frank said, happily. "Where are you now? Are you still there?"

Ian took a deep breath. "Here's the thing," he said. "Mickey has been staying at this hotel in town and—"

"Say no more!" Frank said, quickly.

"Dad," Ian smiled. "We're in an elevator and besides, Mickey and I aren't even together any more." He saw Mickey frowning again. "Nothing is going to happen, okay?"

Which was probably a lie, because being in an empty hotel room with Mickey Milkovich was something one did not just pass up.

"Well, okay," Frank said, but he didn't sound at all convinced. "I'll see you tomorrow, kid. Say hi to Mickey for me."

"Will do, dad," Ian said. "Bye!"

He slipped his phone back inside his pocket and the elevator came to a halt. The door opened with a small ringing sound and they stepped out onto the long, narrow corridor.

"My dad says hi," Ian told Mickey, as he followed him to his room.

Mickey nodded a bit and stopped at room 669 (Ian giggled, very quietly—and obviously very maturely—at that) and slipped the room card key into the small slot, then slid it back out, quickly, as he pushed the door handle down. He pushed the door open and stood back for Ian to walk inside.

"Do you want me to leave?" Ian asked, as Mickey closed the door behind them. "Because I can just go, if you want."

Mickey sighed and flung the card onto a small, round table. "When in my life have I ever wanted you to leave anywhere?"

"Okay," Ian said, carefully. "Well, we can clean up your room, then we can talk about this."

"Why do we have to cl—"

" _Mickey_."

"Okay," Mickey said, tiredly and he bent to pick up a shirt off the floor. "Fine."

It took them ten minutes to take all the clothes and shoes and put them inside the closet and to make the place look neat. Ian closed the closet and stood back to inspect the room. It looked fine. He looked across at Mickey then, who was smoothening out the bed, looking as if he had the world's worries on his shoulders. His eyes were concentrated on the bed and he didn't notice when Ian crossed the room, until he had reached out and laid a hand on his shoulder.

Mickey turned to look at Ian. He gestured behind him at the bed. "I was just—"

"It's fine," Ian said, reaching out for Mickey's hand. "Are we okay?"

"Yeah," Mickey nodded, twisting his hand to entwine his fingers with Ian's. "Sorry, I just—I'm sorry."

"I get it," Ian said, softly.

"No," Mickey said, eyes wide and filled with hurt. "You don't."

* * *

"I.. I don't?"

Mickey shook his head and crawled across to sit up against the pillows. He patted the bed next to him and Ian followed suit, sitting down next to him.

"Everything hit me today," he told Ian. "When we were dancing, I felt weird—not in a bad way! I just—I love you more than anything else in the entire world and even though my life is a huge mess, the thing that hurts me more than anything else, is the idea of losing you, which I think I told you already, but Ian, I feel—I feel like something's tearing me up, like my insides are being torn to shreds and all I can do is accept it. Everything got worse today, Ian and I just—it frustrated me, so I just—I got a little insecure and..."

"Okay," Ian nodded. "I get it, now."

"I wanted us to be able to remember tonight," Mickey said, voice breaking a bit. "I just wanted it to be memorable—a good memory, something you can think back on when I'm just a distant memory."

"You'll never be just a distant memory," Ian assured him.

Mickey shrugged. "You know what I mean," he said. "I just wanted everything about tonight to be perfect."

Ian leaned closer, then, his eyes a shade darker than usual. His voice came out in a slow whisper then.

"Tonight's not over yet," he said and pressed his mouth down softly over Mickey's and Mickey sighed against Ian's lips and he felt his lungs deflating and his body went limp in the arms of the boy with the bright blue eyes.

* * *

They hadn't ever been like this before, moving so slowly and so carefully, as if they were afraid they would break one another. Ian removed the last layer of material keeping them from one another and he pulled Mickey closer, slipping his arms around him, like he was trying to keep him together, to make sure he remained in one piece.

It was different, this situation, because usually they shared the control they had with one another, they moved as equals, both as strong as each other, but tonight, Ian had the upper hand and Mickey was laying back, letting him move him any way he wanted.

Mickey looked up from where he lay against the pillows, his eyes wide and shining, his mouth set in a thin line, like he was trying not to cry. Ian fell down next to him and ignored the way that his body was yearning for relief. He laid his head down beside Mickey's and Mickey twisted around to face him.

"It hurts," Mickey uttered, quietly.

Ian nodded, slowly. "It hurts for me, too," he told him. "I try to be strong about it and I see you breaking in front of my eyes and I figure it's time for me to stop being strong and just break with you."

"You can't be expected to be strong all the time," Mickey told him. "Sometimes you have to just let it all out, because if you don't, at some point it'll all come flooding out all at once and you'll break, permanently and nothing and no one will be able to put you back together again."

Ian nodded and wondered if Mickey believed he was broken with no chance to be fixed. He hoped not. He leaned up and moved to hover over Mickey, who was looking up at him, his breaths coming out uneven and occasionally, in small sobs. Ian dropped down and caught Mickey's lips with his own and then they were lost in one another, their bodies flush together, hands exploring every inch of skin, every crevice and curve, every dip and angle. Ian felt Mickey's breath coming in stutters as he ran a hand slowly over his chest.

"It's okay," he whispered, softly.

Ian reached down and wrapped his hand gently around Mickey's erection. Mickey sighed and reached up and placed his hand against Ian's cheek. A second later, he pulled him down for another kiss and Ian began to pump his hand up on down on Mickey, sending small whimpers from his mouth and into Ian's.

Ian felt something cool and hard pressing against his lower back and he pulled his lips off of Mickey's and gasped a bit. Mickey's lips curled up into a smile, then, sending small jolts of electricity all through Ian's veins. Mickey lifted his hand from Ian's back and held it up for him to see. It had been the bracelet. Ian chuckled and closed the space between their lips again and then the cool bracelet was back against his body, only lower down now, on his backside, soft fingertips kissing his skin, making him shiver.

They stayed like that for a long time, their mouths conjoined, Ian's hand working back and forth on Mickey's cock, Mickey's warm fingertips dancing across Ian's skin. After a while, Ian felt Mickey shifting beneath him, his mouth breaking away. Ian sat up and looked down at him, trying to figure out what had happened, but Mickey only smiled a bit and pushed himself into a seated position.

Mickey rested one hand on Ian's thigh as he leaned across to the side table and pulled the drawer open. Ian watched as he reached inside and pulled out a small bottle. Mickey held it up, smiling slightly and Ian saw what it was.

"You bought lube," he said, a little incredulously. "Wait, why do you have lube? We broke up."

Mickey's cheeks flushed a bright pink and he smiled shyly.

"Mickey Milkovich!" Ian exploded, a wide grin spread across his face. "Have you been practicing without me?"

Mickey reached up and flicked the light switch by the bed, leaving them in darkness, his flushed cheeks no longer visible in the light of the pale moon slipping through the half-closed blinds. "I didn't think practicing with you was an option."

Ian laughed out loud and pushed Mickey back down. "I love you, you dork," he whispered, before pressing his mouth down over Mickey's again and then they fell back into the slow, fluid movements they had been moving with each other before. Ian heard the quiet popping sound of the cap and he shuddered when he felt Mickey's cold fingers sliding across his entrance. He pushed his knees further apart and moaned into Mickey's swelled mouth as his fingers slipped in and out of him.

There was something about the darkness that made Ian more aware of all his other senses. He could hear Mickey's every breath, every small whine, every movement. He moaned a bit when Mickey's fingers disappeared, leaving him empty. Mickey reached up and placed his other hand on Ian's cheek, his fingers cool and shaking slightly.

"You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

Ian's heart only had a split second to make a flip, before his body was being flipped, Mickey turning him over gently, so that his elbows were pressed into the bed. His heart was hammering in his chest as he pushed himself up onto his knees. He felt the heat of Mickey's body coming down over his back, his breath warm against his neck. Ian shivered when Mickey pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the top of his back, just beneath the back of his neck and then his mouth was trailing downwards, following the line of his spine, his tongue leaving a wet line all down his back, the wetness drying quickly in the cool air.

Then Mickey's mouth was at his ear again, his hands on his shoulders. Mickey brushed his lips over the top of Ian's ear, then whispered, very, very quietly.

" _Ready?"_

* * *

Mickey's right arm was curled around his waist, his other arm stretched out above him, on top of Ian's arm. Mickey's fingers clasped tightly with Ian's, as he moved behind him, their bodies crashing together in a steady rhythm. Mickey felt dizzy, his skin hot and sticking to Ian's, the light of the moon slipping across their bodies, casting shadows all across their skin. The white light appeared blue. It bent where one body met the other and it shifted as they moved together.

Mickey slid his right hand down Ian's body and slipped it backwards until he found his cock, pressed into the covers below. Ian groaned when Mickey's hand closed around it and he stroked up and down slowly, his erection growing beneath his touch.

Mickey dropped his head down, his lips finding Ian's neck. He grazed his mouth across his smooth skin and stopped when he found his pulse. He clamped his mouth down over it and sucked on his skin, marking him, wishing he could keep him there forever and keep marking that spot every time it faded away. It wasn't fair. _Ian was his._ Everyone needed to know it.

Ian's head tilted until his left ear was pressed into the mattress. Mickey saw his eyes opening and resting on him. He bent and caught Ian's open mouth with his own, still pumping his hand back and forth on his cock. Ian whined into his mouth and Mickey quickened the movements of his hips as he moved in and out of Ian's still relatively tight hole. Mickey kissed him lazily, their tongues moving slowly together, Ian's eyes closing as Mickey moved faster behind him.

He was close, really close and he knew Ian was, too. He moved his arms so that they were both wrapped around Ian and began to thrust his hips harder and faster as he held onto him for dear life. He raised both of them up and Ian reached out for the head board, using it as support as Mickey literally wrapped himself around his entire body and continued to push in and out, his stomach clenching and unclenching familiarly.

Mickey saw Ian's fingers curling forward against the wooden board and he cried out as Mickey came hard and fast inside him, the world whitening around the edges, his hips stuttering forward and then Ian was crying out, needing relief. Mickey dropped onto his side, taking Ian with him, then reached down and took Ian's throbbing erection in his hand, carefully. Ian was muttering obscenities, his eyes dropping down to watch Mickey's hand pumping back and forth on him, small moans escaping his throat.

After a few more thrusts of Mickey's hand, Ian was coming, a whine that sounded suspiciously like Mickey's name tearing from his mouth, voice guttural and hoarse. Mickey fell back and Ian fell down on top of him and they just breathed for a long time, Mickey still inside Ian, his softening dick sensitive. He eased himself out and Ian was still panting. Mickey moved forward and covered half of Ian's body with his own, his mouth finding Ian's and they kissed lazily, again.

Ian was humming a bit against his lips and Mickey was overcome with emotion, as he thought about the fact that this may very well be their last time together in this way. He tried to protest when Ian pushed him gently away, because he didn't want to spend one minute without having Ian in his arms tonight.

"It's only for a second, babe," Ian assured him, giving his hand a gentle squeeze.

Mickey watched as Ian climbed to his feet, his legs wobbling a little, then he crossed the floor, the blue light cast from the moon licking a line across his already-pale back. Ian disappeared inside the bathroom, then came back out holding a towel. He stopped in front of Mickey, then reached down and wiped him clean. Mickey was blushing, which was ridiculous after what they had just done, but he couldn't help it. He was thankful that it could not be spotted in the dim lighting.

Ian quickly cleaned himself off, then threw the towel off to the side. He pushed the covers back on the bed, then crawled inside and waited for Mickey to join him and when he did, he went up close and wrapped his arms around Mickey's waist, his head resting in that area between his neck and shoulder. Mickey shifted his body so that he could hold onto Ian, too.

"I won't forget tonight," Ian told him, quietly, placing the smallest of kisses to his neck. "Not ever."

* * *

Mickey let out an unintentional sob against the top of Ian's head and that was when Ian lost it. He opened his mouth to tell Mickey it was okay, but a lump had formed in his throat and he couldn't bring himself to speak those words, because they were lies. He let those walls fall down the, the ones he had been trying to keep up for so long, the ones that stopped the tears from flowing and then feelings from slipping out for all to see.

"Don't cry," Mickey whispered, tightening his grip on him and when he said that, Ian realised that he had actually begun to cry, slow, warm, salty tears slipping down his face, one at a time and then they were coming faster and soon he was convulsing with sobs and tears and hurt and he just wanted to fix everything that had gone wrong.

Mickey held him there, whispering to him, telling him it was okay, but pretty soon, he had stopped and Ian realised Mickey was crying, too. He saw the tears slipping from his eyes and there weren't many and he wasn't crying hard, but they were still there. Ian guessed Mickey was all cried out after everything. He didn't want Mickey to cry any more, he knew he hated it.

"I'm sorry," he sniffled. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be."

* * *

Ian had remained strong for far too long and Mickey knew what that was like. He knew what it was like to pretend like nothing was wrong, simply because admitting otherwise made you weak. It didn't, not really, because being able to admit to having problems and to being broken meant you were strong. Hiding it, acting like everything was perfectly fine meant you were weak, a coward, not strong enough to face reality.

They fell asleep, clinging to one another like that. Mickey didn't want the night to end, but tiredness overtook him and he slipped into the clutches of slumber and couldn't get away. The next morning, the sunlight slipped through the blinds and Mickey blinked himself awake. He felt Ian shifting next to him, his eyes still closed. He looked down at him, at his pale skin in the bright light and he asked himself for the billionth time how this boy was real, how he was the same species as everyone else, because there was no one like him, not anywhere in the world.

Ian woke up then and caught Mickey staring at him. He smiled a bit and pushed himself up to face him.

"Hey," Mickey said.

"Hi," Ian yawned. "I'm sorry I cried on you last night. I just—"

"You don't have to explain yourself to me," Mickey shook his head. "I think we're close enough by now that it should be okay to just do whatever, so if you want to laugh, laugh, if you want to cry, cry. I'll love you either way."

Ian sighed and lay back. "I don't know why we broke up." Mickey didn't say anything, because he did know. "I mean, every time we're near one another we end up making out, or in bed together. What part of that makes sense?"

"None of it," Mickey nodded. "But things in my life rarely do make sense any more. I was just thinking, though. I've been going on about how my life sucks and how no one loves me and blah blah blah, but I didn't once stop and think abut how hard all this must be on you. I get to stay here, in a place I know, surrounded by all these people I know, but you're going out there blind, not knowing anyone, just hoping for the best. I'm sorry about that. I was too busy worrying about my own crap to think about that, which makes me a sucky sort-of-boyfriend."

"In your defense," Ian smiled a bit. "You are homeless and have been disowned, so I think worrying about me not making friends is acceptable."

"Totally not acceptable," Mickey disagreed. "I claim I love you—and I do—and then I go and do something like this, when love is supposed to be about two people, not just one."

"Mickey," Ian said, taking his hand. "Don't worry about it. Don't worry about anything except trying to get yourself back on track. You can't—"

"I love you."

Ian raised an eyebrow and studied him for a few moments, his blue eyes filled with concern. "I know," he said, carefully. "I love you, too. Are you—"

"Okay?" Mickey asked. "No, but that's nothing new."

The thing about Mickey was that he wasn't all that concerned about his lack of parental figures, nor his homelessness, because he had people to turn to. Ian leaving was different, no one could help him with that. While there would always be people willing to help a homeless teenage boy in need, there wasn't anyone who had an alternative to Ian Gallagher that they could provide him with. Yes, the other stuff bothered him, he wouldn't be human if they didn't, but he hadn't ever really had a real family, anyway, so that wasn't a huge loss.

He guessed he could have gone with Ian, but in the back of his mind, something was nagging away, telling him he needed to fix things here, because even though Mickey had been mostly independent throughout his life, they were still his parents and no kid likes not being on speaking terms with their parents. He wasn't brave enough to go back and confront them, not yet, but he would have to eventually, but by then Ian would be gone and there was no way around that.

* * *

"It's strange, isn't it?"

"What is?" Ian asked.

"Being in love."

"Um, I guess," Ian said. He hadn't ever thought of it as 'strange'. "How do you mean?"

Mickey was staring across the room at the bare wall. The light coming from the window left a white sheen across the top of his head. "I mean, sometimes I feel like saying 'I love you' isn't enough, because how can three little words that can be used with reference to—I don't know, chocolate chip cookies, equal the love I feel for you? Do you know what I'm saying?"

Ian thought for a second. "Kind of," he said. "Yeah. Yeah, I get it."

"I don't know," Mickey shrugged. "I just feel as if there should be something more. If I was a poet, I would write you a sonnet. If I was an artist, I'd paint you a masterpiece. But I'm neither of those things, so what do those of us with limited talents do to express our love?"

"You show it," Ian told him and he looked up at him, eyes filled with wonder. "In the way you act and in the things you say and do and trust me, Mickey, if we're going to base how much you love me on the things you say and do, then you must love me a whole lot."

"I do," Mickey nodded. "Then sometimes I think that sex is not enough."

" _Mickey,_ " Ian smiled and shook his head. "I get it. Nothing is ever enough with you, but sometimes things _are_ enough. You on your own, you're enough, so forget all that. As long as I've got you, it's enough. Simple as that."

Mickey frowned. "Which isn't very long at all."

"Hey," Ian said. "You told me forever and unless my calculations are off—which is doubtful, since you're the one with the time keeping issues—forever is a heck of a long time."

"Well," Mickey said, smiling. "You know what I mean."

"I do," he nodded. "But, you know what, Mickey? Sometimes life's a bitch, but we have to get through the bad stuff to get to the good sometimes and if it's meant to be, fate'll turn it back around and we'll find ourselves face to face again."

Mickey sighed, seemingly unconvinced. "Unfortunately, Ian," he began. "Sometimes we have to make things happen by ourselves."

"You always have to go and ruin my philosophical moments with your words of wisdom," Ian grinned.

"You know I'm right," Mickey smiled. "Oh, and speaking of things that are and not supposed to happen," he said. "Good luck explaining that hickey away to your father, who, by the way, you told nothing would happen."

"Ugh," Ian grimaced. "Why do you have to be such a vampire?"

"Well, it's certainly not because I like the blood of virgins," Mickey smirked.

"Obviously not."

"I don't know, dude," Mickey said, resting his arms behind his head. "You fling your head back in the heat of the moment and your neck is just so smooth and unblemished. It's like it's just begging for me to put my mouth on it, you know?"

Ian smiled, but he knew Mickey was covering up with humour.

"I belong to you regardless of how many people know it, you know that, don't you?" he asked.

Mickey's face was a mask of sobriety, then and he tilted his head so that his hazel eyes were in line with Ian's bright, azure ones. "I know," he said, gravely. "But when you own something as precious and as perfect as you, you want to showcase it to the world."

Ian sighed, contentedly and sat back, Mickey's hand in his own. "We're going to figure this out, Mickey," Ian told him, confidently. He had no idea how, but they had to try, right? "I love you and you love me and that has to count for something."

"Yeah, but when the world tips sideways and life steps in and everything you've ever known takes a turn for the worst," Mickey began. "It turns out that, despite what you thought, love just isn't enough."


	34. Chapter 34

**Chapter 34:**

There were only two weeks until Ian was leaving for New York and Mickey was feeling more depressed than he had in a long time. They had spent a lot of time together, despite not actually being together as a couple. Mickey thought about what Ian had said the night of prom, about how they shouldn't have even broken up, because they always seemed to end up in bed together and it was true.

Since prom, they had ended up in bed together numerous times. They had slept together the night after the nationals competition, which they won (apparently, Quinn wasn't the only one who believed in celebratory sex) and the night of graduation, too. They had spent almost every day during the summer together, too, so naturally, many of those nights had ended with them getting intimate.

Mickey had been sort of bitter-sweet about how often they spent in one another's company, because he had broken it off for a reason, he needed them to not continue to get closer, because that would make things harder, but at the same time, he didn't want to waste a minute not breathing the same air as Ian. Now that the time was drawing closer, he didn't know what to do.

He had managed to secure a job at the Lima Bean, which wasn't really his dream job, but it was fine for now. It wasn't really that he needed the money, he was still using his father's cash for everything, including the hotel he was now staying in. He had applied for the job because he wanted something to do. He was tired of sitting around, doing nothing all day. It had been good for a while, but he had grown tired of it. At least with the job, he felt as if he was doing something.

He called Ian one night, as he lay on the bed in his hotel room. He called Ian most nights, or Ian called him. It hurt to think about not hearing from Ian every day once he was gone, but most of the time, he tried not to think about that, because like most things in his life, he put them off until they were right in front of him, when he had no choice but to face them.

"Hi," he said, once Ian had picked up. "I've been thinking."

"Makes a change," Ian teased and Mickey smiled, half-heartedly.

"I'm going to go back to my parents' house and pick up the rest of my things," he told Ian. "Make a clean break and all that."

"Oh, yeah?" Ian asked. "Are you sure?"

Mickey twisted his face. "Of course, I'm sure," he told him. "Why wouldn't I be sure?"

"I don't know," Ian said. "I guess it's like clearing out the rest of your things makes it really final, y'know?"

"Exactly!" Mickey smiled, slightly. "I don't want anything to do with them, so I should just break away."

"Only if you're sure."

"I am."

There was a pause, then Ian spoke, "I'll help you."

"What?"

"Clear your stuff out," Ian went on. "I can give you a hand with it."

"Oh," Mickey said. "Yeah? You know you don't have to."

"If you don't want me to, I won't." Mickey could almost see Ian holding up his hands in defence. "I'm just offering my services." Mickey grinned at that. "NOT in that way!" Ian interjected and Mickey could hear him smiling.

"Aww," he fake pouted. "But seriously, thank you. That would be amazing."

"Okay," Ian said. "When do we start?"

* * *

"Will you relax?"

"But my dad is home!"

Ian sighed and sat back in the passenger seat of Mickey's car. "What do you want to do?" he asked. "Do you want to come back another time? Do you want me to leave and do this by yourself?"

Mickey turned and looked at him, face a mask of confusion. "Why would I want you to leave?"

"I just thought—"

"No," Mickey shook his head. "No, I don't care if he sees you. In fact, we should like, make out in front of him, just to get a rise out of him."

"Bad idea," Ian pointed out.

"I know," Mickey said. "But it's a nice little fantasy."

"I've envisioned nicer fantasies," Ian deadpanned.

"You should tell me about them some time," Mickey smirked, then took a deep breath. "Okay," he exhaled. "Let's do this."

* * *

"Before you say anything," Mickey said, quickly, once his father had opened the door. He didn't look much like Mickey, only around the nose and he had the same triangular eyebrows. His hair was a shade lighter and his eyes were an ordinary, muddy brown, unlike Mickey's stunning golden ones. He looked stern and reminded Ian of those really stereotypical business men in TV shows, all pressed suits and stiff upper lips. "I'm here to get the rest of my things and then I'm out of your hair for good."

Ian followed Mickey into the hallway and Mickey started up the stairs. He stopped half way and looked back at his dad and Ian saw a familiar glint in his bright eyes. "Oh, by the way, dad," Mickey said. "This is Ian. I'm glad you two are finally meeting, you know, before we elope."

Mickey turned to look at Ian, a broad grin plastered on his face. Ian couldn't help glancing back to see how Mickey's dad had reacted. His expression was a mixture of surprise and anger. Mickey reached out and grabbed Ian's hand, then pulled him upstairs. "Come on, pretty boy."

Ian's heart had a half a second to do a mini flip, before Mickey was tugging him gently up the stairs and into his bedroom.

"You just don't know when to keep your mouth shut, do you?" Ian smiled, closing the bedroom door.

"It was worth it," Mickey said. " _His face!_ That was priceless, oh my God."

Ian smiled at Mickey's delight. "Come on," he said. "Let's get you moved out."

* * *

"Isn't this.." Mickey turned around when he heard Ian speaking. "Yeah. This is mine." Mickey turned around to see Ian holding something grey.

"What?" Mickey asked, curiously.

"This scarf.." Ian said, slowly. "Did I.. Did I leave this here?"

Mickey went closer. He felt himself blushing when he saw what Ian was holding. "Oh, that," he said, bashfully. "I meant to give that back. Do you remember the day after Iggy's party and you wore the scarf to cover up the..?" He gestured at his neck. Ian gave a small nod. "So, remember after lunch Iggy like, tore it off you and stomped on it, then we shoved you in that locker?"

"I remember."

"Well, I sort of.. went back after a while and it had been flung in the garbage, so I decided I'd take it home and like, wash it and give it back, but I forgot. It's washed. I just never brought it back to you."

"You forgot," Ian said, carefully.

Mickey shrugged and walked past Ian. He reached into the back of his closet and lifted out a studded jacket. "Also yours," he said, holding it out for Ian to take. He took it from him, then looked up at him quizzically. "This got thrown in the garbage, too and I took it home to wash and also forgot to bring that back."

"Okay."

Mickey sighed, then sat down on his bed. Ian came and sat next to him. "Maybe I didn't forget."

Ian only nodded.

"It's like.. I was trying to hold on to you," he went on. "Which is dumb, because back then, you weren't even going anywhere. I guess I was just clinging on to— _something._ "

Ian reached across and placed a warm hand over Mickey's. Mickey raised his eyes to Ian's. "Do you want to keep them?" Ian asked, softly.

"Wh-what?"

"Yeah," Ian shrugged. "I mean, if you want."

Mickey looked down, because Ian was shoving the jacket and the scarf into his lap. "I—they don't smell like you any more," Mickey said, quietly.

They sat in silence for a few seconds. The humorous atmosphere that had been in the room was gone entirely now. Ian sat up a bit, then. "I'll take them home and I'll wash them with my detergent, then you can have them back."

"You don't ha—"

"Mickey," Ian said, steadily and Mickey looked up into Ian's blue eyes. "It's okay." Ian gave him a slow nod.

"You make everything better," Mickey told him, trying to ignore the lump forming in his throat. He looked up and tried to smile, but it didn't go all the way to his eyes. "What will I ever do without you?"

* * *

Mickey dropped the last box into the back of his car and Ian shut the trunk with a loud bang. "All done?" Ian asked.

"I think so," Mickey told him. "I just want to do a quick walk through downstairs, make sure I don't have to come back. Coming?"

"Sure," Ian smiled and followed him inside.

They walked through the house, Mickey moving things every so often. His dad seemed to be out of sight now. Ian wondered where his mom was and just as he thought this, he heard a voice behind him calling Mickey's name. He could see Mickey in her, the bright eyes and the good looks. Ian felt out of place, he stood back a bit, next to Mickey, because this had suddenly gotten insanely awkward.

"Mom," Mickey said, quietly.

"Your dad said you were here!"

"I'm just getting my things, then I'm leaving," Mickey nodded.

"Mickey," his mother said, with a sigh. Mickey saw her eyes flicker over Ian for a moment. "Can't you just drop this—this _gay thing_ ," she whispered those words. "And come home?"

"Drop this.. Okay," Mickey shook his head. "Mom. Look. This," he said, reaching out and taking Ian by the shoulder. "Is Ian. Ian is hands down the greatest person I've ever had the pleasure of knowing, but he didn't make me gay, mom. I was already gay, I always will be. I can't just 'drop it'. It's not as easy as that. This is who I am, so either accept it, or don't, it's your choice. Either way, I'm moving out, because I can't stand to be here any more. I'm done."

"Darling," Mickey's mother said. "It's just a _phase._ When your uncle Ernie was in high school, he went through a similar phase! He thought he was in love with Henry Lionard, who was class president, but look at Ernie now! Married, with three kids and he has his own gas station! Mickey, reconsider, sweetheart."

Mickey could only gape at her, unable to form real, coherent words.

"Mrs Milkovich," Ian said, beside him, much to Mickey's surprise. "I know it's useless trying to explain to you that this is not a choice, because I've met far too many people who believe it is and their opinions can't be changed, no matter what. But Mickey is your son, okay? I have spent years wondering what my mom would think about me if she was alive and from what I've been told, she was an accepting woman. I would still give anything to have her here with me, then I would know for sure. You're still here and Mickey still needs a parent that loves him regardless of his sexuality. Don't let him go away like this, on bad terms. Don't let him lose a mom, because you can't accept who he is, when so many people lose their moms to fatalities.

"There are a million things I wish I could say to my mom, but I can't," Ian went on. "Life sucks and sometimes, bad things happen and you regret not having said things after it's too late. If you let him walk away now, you might regret it."

Mickey gave Ian a grateful smile and Ian just nodded a bit. Mickey looked at his mom, who just looked more confused than anything else. Then he heard his dad's voice behind him, coming out of the kitchen.

"Mickey made his choices," he said, stopping by the door, arms folded across his chest. "Just because your father thinks it's okay for you to bring disgrace on your family, doesn't mean I do. That's what makes our classes so different—"

"With all due respect, Mr Milkovich," Ian interjected. "My father's son isn't the one who has been living at various friend's house, as well as at hotels for the past few months, so I don't think you're in any position to judge how my dad perceives me."

Mickey saw his dad open his mouth to speak, but he spoke first. "Dad," Mickey said. "Seriously, you need to sit down and reevaluate your life. Stop living like this, it's tragic." He saw Ian stifle a smile beside him. "You know what? I don't even want to be here for a second longer, let's go, Ian."

Mickey walked towards the hall, Ian following, but his mom stepped in front of him.

"Mickey," she said. "This is ridiculous. You must know in your heart that this isn't right—"

"Actually, all I know in my heart is that I love Ian and he loves me, but you guys don't," Mickey said, voice quivering a little. "Because if you did love me, you would accept me no matter what. We're through here. Let us pass."

"Let them go," Mickey heard his father say, sternly behind them and Mickey's mom stepped instantly out of the way. They continued walking, but his father went on. "We don't need filth like that in our house. Especially not the faggy son of a mechanic—"

Mickey didn't have time to think before he had swung back around and made a beeline for his father, but Ian was there in a flash, restraining him.

"Mickey," Ian hissed. "It's okay."

"It is not okay," Mickey said, through gritted teeth.

"Yes, it is," Ian assured him. "Relax. We can just leave and—"

"You know all those times I told you I hated you?" he shouted at his dad, who was still standing by the door. Ian was gripping his arms tightly and he could have broken away, but that would mean shoving Ian off, which he wasn't about to do. "I never meant it, not once, but now," Mickey continued. "Now I do. I can't stand you! I hate everything about you. I hate how you act like a complete asshole at home, yet outside, you pretend like we're the perfect family. _We're not._ We never have been. We've never even been a family. All we have ever been is me and mom tip toeing around, afraid to make one wrong turn in case it sets you off. That's what this 'family' has been. You can insult me all you want, whatever, you're the one that raised me, so if I'm a screw up, that's your fault, but don't stand there and call Ian names when he is a million times more of a man than you could ever be. It's funny, because there was a time when I felt bad for you, felt like there must have been something to make you so.. so _angry_ , but I figured it out. You're just a huge asshole and _I hate you_."

Ian had a steady hand pressed to his back and he was making tiny circular movements with it, which was keeping him calm.

"I'm okay," he told Ian. Ian looked sceptical, so Mickey relaxed his body and gave him a nod. "I'm fine." Ian just nodded and loosened his grip, but he didn't let go entirely. "We should just go," Mickey said.

He shot his dad one more glare, then turned around and let Ian steer him towards the door. Mickey gave his mom a look of disapproval, then continued on out the door, leaving it all behind. He was through with them, through with everything. He didn't want anything to do with them, not ever again.

* * *

"It'll be okay," Ian said, stroking Mickey's hair back from his face. "I know right now it doesn't seem like it will, but I promise it'll be okay. Things always get better, babe. Sometimes, they just have to get worse, first."

"Th-that's the worst pep talk you have ever give me, Ian Gallagher," Mickey told him, wiping his eyes.

"Well, I can't be perfect all the time," Ian smiled, sadly.

"And suddenly everything I've ever believed in has been shattered into a million pieces," Mickey joked, sniffling a bit.

"Honestly, though," Ian said, placing a light kiss to Mickey's forehead. "It can't stay bad forever. Nothing is ever permanent."

Mickey twisted his face, his eyes filled with confusion. They were more green than anything else, which happened every time he cried. "I love you," he told Ian. "That's permanent."

"Oh, I didn't mean—wow. I suck. I guess some things are permanent," Ian shook his head. "Sorry. I love you, too. I'll never stop."

"You do sort of suck sometimes," Mickey told him.

"You are just extra bitchy, lately," Ian smiled, still stroking Mickey's dark curls back from his face.

"I have good reason," Mickey pointed out. "Sorry. You don't suck. At least not in the way I just meant. I just—I don't know. I'm tired of everything being a mess. I'm tired of crying, yet somehow, I still seem to have so many tears left in me that just refuse to stay locked up."

"So just cry," Ian shrugged, laying back next to Mickey. "If you need to cry, cry. I could never judge you for needing to cry."

Mickey moved to lie on his side and he leaned across and rested his head on Ian's chest. Ian reached down and continued to stroke his hair. "I'm sorry, I'm just going to slobber all over you, right now," Mickey told him.

"Usually, I would tell you to get the hell off me, because that's disgusting and I like this shirt," Ian said. "But slobber away."

"Have I told you I loved you today?"

"Yes," Ian said. "But I could never get tired of hearing that."

* * *

"So then Mickey told him he hated him and we left and I took him back to his hotel and he just.. Just cried, dad. He just cried until he fell asleep."

Ian watched as Frank's look of anger changed to one of pity. He shook his head and took his cap off, then placed it down on the kitchen table.

"Did you tell him he could come stay here whenever he wants?" Frank asked. "I don't like him being alone in a hotel, Ian."

"I told him," Ian sighed, tiredly. "I tell him every single day. He won't come over."

Frank looked angry again as he fidgeted with his cap. "Alright," he said. "But I have an idea. Hear me out and tell me what you think."

* * *

Mickey opened the door to his hotel room and Ian was standing there, smiling, his hair perfectly coiffed, eyes bright and beautiful and jeans tighter than should have been possible. Mickey smiled instantly, then frowned.

"You're leaving in three days."

"I know," Ian said, smile fading. Mickey stepped back and he walked inside. He saw Ian looking around the room, just as he always did, making sure Mickey wasn't living in a pig sty. Mickey had gotten into the habit of cleaning it every time he knew Ian was on his way over, just to avoid wasting the first ten minutes of their time together cleaning up. "So, listen, I have to talk to you."

"That sounds foreboding," Mickey chuckled, climbing on to the bed and waiting for Ian to come and sit next to him.

"It's nothing bad," Ian told him, moving to sit beside him. "It's just.. The day you officially moved out, my dad and I got talking and he came up with this idea."

"I'm listening," Mickey said, though he didn't see what could be done to solve anything that had gone wrong in his life.

"He suggested that when I leave," Ian said and Mickey's heart sank on the words 'when I leave'. "You move in to my room."

"No," Mickey shook his head.

"What? Why not?"

"I can't just move in to your room, Ian," Mickey said. "That's horrible."

"How is it horrible?" Ian enquired. "Mickey, do you think I feel at ease knowing you're in some strange hotel room, surrounded by strangers? At least if you were with my dad, I would be a little more relaxed out there."

Out there. That was what they had started calling New York. Out there seemed like a million miles away to Mickey.

"Ian, I just don't want to intrude—"

"You wouldn't be intruding!" Ian said. "You're practically family. Seriously. Say yes. Please? I'll do anything."

"Anything?" Mickey raised one eyebrow, but his heart wasn't in it.

" _Anything_ ," Ian nodded. "Honestly, if you're not comfortable with it, say no, but I would love it if you said yes. We could move you in tonight. We could spend the last few nights together. We'd sleep better together, right?" Ian asked, hopefully.

Mickey looked down at his hands, trying to think. He wasn't sure if spending the last few nights with Ian would be a good thing, because it hurt to know they only had such a short amount of time left. On the other hand, he didn't want to spend the last few nights _without_ Ian..

"Okay," Mickey nodded. "And I definitely wouldn't be a hassle?"

"Shut up and kiss me," Ian said, reaching across and trying to tug him forward by his shirt.

"Ian," Mickey said. "Seriously, tell me. Am I overstepping?"

"Baby," Ian said, firmly. "I need you to be safe, okay? Regardless of how much you think going out there is going to make me forget about everything here, it doesn't matter. You're wrong. I'm going to spend all my time wondering what you're doing and if you're getting on okay. At least if you have my dad there, as someone you can go to for whatever you need, I'll be able to have some sort of solace."

"Really?"

"Really," Ian clarified.

"Okay."

Ian grinned and began pulling him forward again, but Mickey stopped for a second time. "What now?"

"Baby is mine," Mickey told him, with a smile. "You had babe and I had baby, remember?"

"I remember," Ian smirked. "Now can I kiss you?"

"One more thing."

"What?"

"Tell me you love me?" Mickey choked out.

"I love you," Ian told him and Mickey smiled, his golden syrup eyes falling on Ian's ocean blue ones.. "I'll tell you every second until I leave if it'll make you smile like that."

Mickey closed the space between their lips this time and he kissed him slowly, savouring every moment, because moments like these, were the ones that you didn't forget, no matter what and Mickey wanted the last few days to be filled with those unforgettable moments.

Maybe he would be left behind, but he would not be forgotten.


	35. Chapter 35

**Chapter 35:**

"This is so depressing," Mickey said, staring out over the familiar field, the light of the moon slipping through the tall trees and highlighting some sections, but Ian and Mickey were standing in the shade, just staring into nothingness. They had been standing there in silence for ten minutes, before Mickey had declared it depressing.

"I can't say I disagree," Ian said, as Mickey dropped to sit down in the grass. Ian sat down next to him, carefully, cringing a bit at the dirt he was about to sit in, but he sat anyway because tomorrow, he was leaving and he wasn't going to let his fear of getting a little dirty ruin their final night together.

Mickey sighed and inched closer, then leaned in and laid his head on Ian's shoulder. "Can we just stay here like this forever?"

Ian chuckled. "What would we do if it rained? And what about skincare?"

Mickey smiled and nudged Ian playfully. "Seriously, though," Mickey said, still smiling. "Couldn't I like, buy a shed and set it down here and just live here for the rest of forever?"

"The rest of forever seems like an awfully long time," Ian told him.

"Unfortunately," Mickey sighed again.

"There's still that idea we talked about last night," Ian pointed out.

Mickey caught his bottom lip between his teeth and said nothing. What they had discussed the previous night was Mickey coming to New York with Ian, but Mickey didn't see how that was going to work out. He guessed he could have gone, but that would mean going out there straight away, because if he waited a long time before joining Ian, chances were Ian would already be caught up in the wonder and awe of the big city. Maybe he would even find someone else, someone more interesting, more attractive and with more talent than Mickey. If he was going to go to New York, he would have to leave with Ian, tomorrow, but he couldn't do that.

" _Why not?_ " Ian had asked and Mickey hadn't been able to give him a straight answer. He didn't know what it was that was keeping him there, or maybe he did, he just had trouble admitting it. As much as he disliked his parents and the situation they had put him in, he felt like he couldn't just leave them without trying again. Maybe he could talk to his mom, help her understand.

But he couldn't bring himself to do that yet. However, he couldn't leave until he knew he had tried and by the time he did that, Ian would be settled in and probably wouldn't even want him there any more. Besides, New York seemed very surreal to him. He couldn't imagine himself out there, amongst the glamour and the big city lights. He needed to get his head around everything before he could make any drastic decisions, which was why he had to decline Ian's proposal that he go with him.

"I guess I can't expect you to come all the way out there for me," Ian said, obviously sensing Mickey's discomfort.

"It's not that," Mickey said, quickly. "If you asked me to go out there with you, I'd go, no questions asked." It was true, if Ian really wanted him there, he would go. Maybe he wouldn't be entirely comfortable with it, but if that was what Ian wanted, he would do it.

It occurred to Mickey then that maybe he needed that, too, for Ian to ask him to go with him, to beg him to go, to tell him that he couldn't possibly go anywhere without him and that he absolutely had to have him with him forever. Which was unfair, because Mickey knew Ian loved him and Ian couldn't know what Mickey wanted unless he told him. Mickey didn't even really know what he wanted himself. He wanted Ian to stay with him, but he would never let him, because this was Ian's dream and he wanted Ian to go out and live it. He wanted to be with Ian, but he couldn't see a way to make that happen that didn't make him feel as if he would be making the wrong decision, for whatever reason.

"I don't think you want me to ask that of you," Ian said, softly, shifting a bit and Mickey sat up so that he could look into those ocean blue eyes. "I know you have your reasons, so I won't ask you to do anything you're not comfortable with, but.." Ian paused for a moment and Mickey waited for him to go on. "Tell me the reason you don't want to go isn't because you don't love me, or want to be with me."

"Are you crazy?" Mickey asked, incredulously. "That couldn't be further from the truth. I always want to be with you. I just—I don't really know what it is, I just—I can't leave yet. Unless you want it."

"I'm not about to make you leave when something is telling you you need to stay, but—"

"No," Mickey said, before Ian could finish that sentence. "I know what you're going to say and if I don't go with you now, I never will, because once you're out there, everything will have changed and I won't be enough and—"

" _You won't be enough?_ " Ian asked, eyes wide. "Mickey," Ian breathed and then he was pushing Mickey backwards, until he was flat on his back with Ian sitting next to him, but leaning across him, his hands on either side of his arms. Mickey's heart had begun to thump faster in his chest and he looked up at Ian, shadows cast all across his body from the moon and the trees and the stars and he felt his heart aching, because how was he supposed to just let this boy walk out of his life without a fight? "I know you think that going out there is going to turn me into some stranger, but it won't. I'll still be me, the same guy who fell in love with you, even when you were hurting me. If I could love you then, I can love you no matter what."

Mickey just took slow, even breaths, eyes locked on Ian.

"And I know that you're not convinced now," Ian went on, moving a hand to rest against Mickey's left cheek. His touch sent small shivers all down Mickey's spine. That feeling never got old. "But maybe at some point that'll register and you'll be able to do something about it."

"You should kiss me now," Mickey uttered.

Ian smiled and it made Mickey's heart still in his chest for a split second. "I should," he said, then he lowered himself down, the palm of his hand still pressed to Mickey's cheek, then his mouth was about an inch away from Mickey's and he stopped.

"What are—"

"Shh," Ian whispered, then he smiled and pressed his lips to Mickey's.

Mickey reached up to pull him closer, to deepen the kiss, to drink him in and hold on to him and just have him there, close to him, flush against him, like no one else ever had been, but Ian just tilted his head back and looked down at Mickey, with those bright, glistening eyes and shook his head.

Mickey opened his mouth to speak, but Ian spoke first, "If you go too fast, it'll all be over too quickly and I never want it to be over."

Mickey wondered if he was talking about sex, but he had a feeling he wasn't. He didn't say anything, just nodded and then Ian's lips were on his again. Mickey closed his eyes and slipped his arms around Ian's waist, then pulled him down, gently, not rushing, just needing to have him close. Ian hummed against his lips and Mickey slipped his hands under Ian's jacket, then under the soft material of his shirt and pressed the tips of his cool fingers to the small of Ian's smooth back. He felt Ian gasp a little against his lips, but then he settled back into the slow, contrived kiss as Mickey's finger tips placed tiny kisses all along the soft skin of his lower back.

Mickey shuddered when Ian's cold hands slipped under his shirt and pressed against his stomach.

"Sorry," Ian whispered very quietly against Mickey's lips.

"Don't apologise," Mickey smiled up at him and Ian blinked a couple of times, slowly, his lashes thick and dark in the dim light. Mickey raised his head a bit, beckoning Ian's lips to his own. Ian pressed his lips back down over Mickey's and slipped his tongue past his teeth.

Mickey felt Ian's lips tilting into a smile against his own and his fingers were moving upwards, over his ribs and then higher. Mickey hummed when Ian's thumb flicked over his right nipple and then his hands were lingering at the sides of his ribcage and Mickey squeaked a bit. Ian tore his lips away and grinned.

"I forgot you were ticklish," he told him and he moved his fingers again. Mickey jerked away, trying to stifle his laughter.

"You did that on purpose!" Mickey accused, covering his stomach with his arms.

Ian laughed out loud then pushed Mickey back down. Mickey tried to protest, still shielding his body, but Ian just shook his head and his wide grin faded to a smile. Ian caught Mickey's eyes and Mickey knew then that the joke was over and Ian wanted to go back to them just being close to one another. Mickey nodded very slightly and then Ian was sliding his hands under his shirt again, but this time, they slipped under him, to press against his lower back. Mickey took Ian's chin gently in his hand and pulled him down for another kiss, slipping his other hand back to where it had been before, on the small of Ian's back.

Ian kissed him back and Mickey was dizzy. Ian's mouth moving against his own, that familiar smell, his light touch, all sent him reeling, his heart hammering away inside his chest. Ian moved his mouth then and began to kiss his way down Mickey's jaw, only stopping when he reached the side of his neck, near his pulse. Mickey tilted his head to give him more space and then he felt Ian's warm tongue on him. He began to place, short, open-mouthed kisses to his neck and Mickey moaned.

"You okay?" Ian whispered, taking his mouth off of Mickey to speak.

"Will you.."

"Anything you want," Ian told him.

Mickey felt his skin flushing when he said it, "Mark me?"

Ian leaned back to look at him, his eyes soft, but still wild-looking. "If you want," he told Mickey.

"I want," he permitted. "I want to have it there for after you're gone."

"Okay," Ian nodded, then bent his head again, his lips finding Mickey's pulse. Ian kissed him there a few times, then his teeth were nibbling very gently on his skin and Mickey flung his head back, baring his neck completely for Ian.

" _Please_ ," Mickey whispered and Ian placed a final butterfly kiss to his neck, before burying his head there. It was a strange thing, to have someone sucking on your neck, but Ian felt amazing. His hot mouth was locked on his soft skin and Mickey just wanted this forever, wanted Ian to just mark him all over and claim him as his own so that everyone knew.

After a long time, Ian raised his head and Mickey opened his eyes and Ian was smiling down at him, his blue eyes a shade darker than they had been before.

"You're beautiful," Ian told him, which was new, because usually it was Mickey telling Ian he was beautiful. Mickey smiled and felt a lump forming in his throat, not for the first time that day. "Are you going to cry?" Ian asked, reaching up to push a stray curl back from Mickey's forehead.

"No," Mickey told him, with a smile, but he wasn't sure that was true.

Ian dropped down and pressed a light kiss to Mickey's forehead, then pulled back again and looked at him. "Let me see the damage," he chuckled and tilted Mickey's chin with his fingers. "Hmm," Ian grinned. "Not bad for a first timer."

"Do you remember the first time we did it here?"

Ian spluttered. " _Yes_ ," he said, wrinkling his nose. "I just remember thinking it was so— _dirty_."

"Oh, admit it, you loved it," Mickey smirked. " _Every. Single. Time._ "

"Never said I didn't," Ian said, dropping his hand to Mickey's shoulder.

"Thought not," Mickey smiled. "That was one of the greatest nights of my life."

"Yeah, you said so the night of your birthday party," Ian informed him.

"I did?" Ian nodded. Mickey shrugged. "I meant it. It was. All of the best nights were with you. And the best days, too."

"Same for me," Ian told him.

"Not for long," Mickey said, smile fading. "Pretty soon your best memories will be memories of things you do in New York." He saw Ian frowning. "I don't mean to sound bitter about that. Sorry."

"It's fine," Ian shook his head and entwined his arms around Mickey's neck. "But seriously, Mickey, regardless of what happens in my life, this— _us_ — will always be special to me. I love you, remember? That doesn't just go away over night."

Mickey nodded and sighed. He reached up and pulled Ian down for another kiss. They kissed, slowly and for a long time, until they had to come up for air. Mickey's head was misty and his heart felt huge in his chest. All he wanted to do was reach up and pull Ian down to him, clasp him in a tight embrace and never let go.

Mickey did reach up and pull Ian down, he held him close and wrapped him up in his arms and they stayed there talking quietly for a long time, but in the end, Mickey still had to let go.

They climbed to their feet and Ian reached across for Mickey's hand.

"I'm going to miss this place," Ian said, looking out over the darkness.

"I'm not going to come back here without you," Mickey decided.

"What?" Ian asked, turning to look at him. "Why not? You used to come here without me before."

"Yeah," Mickey shrugged one shoulder. "But you don't miss something you never had and now that I've had you and that I've spent so much time with you here, I can never go back to not knowing what it's like to have you here with me, you know?"

Ian stared at him with those bright blue eyes for a couple of heart beats, then he nodded. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah, I get it."

"You know what we should do?"

"What?"

Mickey grinned and began tugging Ian towards the dark trees.

"Oh, no," Ian said, stopping still. "There is no way you're getting me in there. There is bound to be wild animals and bugs and—and filth and—"

"Come _on_ , Ian!" Mickey smiled, tugging lightly on Ian's hand. "Trust me."

Ian sighed. "Fine," he said. "I must really love you a whole lot."

"You do," Mickey grinned and lead Ian into the darkness. He stopped by a tall oak tree and reached inside his pocket for his phone. "Hold this," he said, handing the phone to Ian, the soft glow of the phone a little shocking to his eyes. Ian held up the phone as Mickey produced a key from his pocket.

"What are you—oh," Ian said, watching as Mickey leaned into the tree and started to carve into the thick bark. "This is vandalism."

"Live a little," Mickey smiled, glancing across at Ian. He dragged the sharp end of the key down making the letter 'B'. He continued to carve into the wood until he was done. He stood back to admire his handy work, his eyes roving over the crooked letters inside the crooked heart shape in the light of the phone.

 _Mickey_

 _and_

 _Ian_

"You're a cheesy, little romantic," Ian smiled, grabbing Mickey's hand again.

"Oh, the 'little' jokes never get old, Gallagher," Mickey grinned, slipping the key back in is pocket. "How long do you think this will be here?"

"Hopefully forever," Ian said, a little dreamily.

Mickey frowned a bit then, because maybe the carving would be there forever, but they wouldn't last forever. They stood there staring at it for another while, then Ian gave Mickey's hand a light squeeze.

"We should get home," he said.

"I guess," Mickey nodded. "Kiss me one more time in our field. Just once more."

Ian smiled and moved to stand in front of Mickey, then he tugged him forward and crushed their mouths together and this time, the kiss was anything but slow and careful. Instead, it was frantic, needy, filled with yearning and passion and want and Mickey just needed to take Ian home and make the most of their final night together.

"I love you," Ian breathed, once they had torn their mouths apart.

"And I love you," Mickey replied, his fingers clasped with Ian's. "I love you so much it hurts."

And it was true, it really and truly did hurt.

* * *

"Mickey," Ian shook his head. "That is a terrible show, we are not watching that." Ian made a grab for the TV remote, but Mickey held it away from him.

"I happen to like this show," Mickey quipped back, holding the remote up in the air, even though Ian was taller than him and could easily have reached it if he really wanted to.

"That's because your taste is in your ass," Ian told him.

"Does that include my taste in men?"

Ian glared at him. "No," he said, finally. "Your taste in men is flawless, but your taste in television is tragic."

"God, fine," Mickey smiled and dropped the remote down into Ian's lap, before flinging himself back on the couch, his body leaning on Ian's side. "Why are we even watching TV when we could go downstairs and—"

"Hi, dad," Ian said, loudly over Mickey, because Mickey couldn't see the door from the angle he was sitting in. Frank walked in the door, holding a mug.

"Oh, hey, guys," Frank said and Mickey pushed himself up. "Didn't know you were home. I was just gonna.." Frank gestured towards the TV. "But watch whatever you were watching, I can go—"

"Actually, dad, we weren't watching anything, just browsing," Ian told him, then he elbowed Mickey. "We'll go to my room and leave you to watch.. whatever you were about to watch."

Frank raised an eyebrow, looking from Ian to Mickey, then back to Ian.

"Dad," Ian groaned. "We're just going to hang out, okay? This is my last night here, can't I at least spend time with the guy I love without you thinking we're going to—to do _that_?"

Frank gave a Gallic shrug. "I didn't say a word."

Mickey spluttered a bit and Ian gave him a sideways scowl. "What?" Mickey asked. "He's right, he didn't say anything!"

"Whose side are you on?"

"There are no sides, Ian," Frank chuckled and sat down in his arm chair. "Now go downstairs, unless you want to stay and watch football."

Ian turned around instantly and gave Mickey a gentle push towards the stairs to his room. Mickey tried to protest, but Ian rolled his eyes and grabbed his arm, then tugged him down the stairs after him. Once inside, Ian shut the door.

"Do you think he'll come check on us?" Mickey asked.

"He hasn't come down the past two nights, has he?"

"No," Mickey concluded. "So.."

"What?" Ian smirked.

"Nothing."

"Would that nothing have anything to do with farewell sex?" Ian enquired.

" _Farewell sex_ ," Mickey scoffed. "You're something else, do you know that?"

"I am aware," Ian smiled and went closer. He saw Mickey swallow hard when he reached out and tugged him forward by the round neck of his t-shirt. Mickey allowed Ian to push him down onto the bed, his hands trailing down his body until they rested on either side of his hips. "I'm just going to take your clothes off, okay? It'll save time."

"Yeah, whatever you want," Mickey breathed. "Wh-what about yours?"

Ian raised a thin brow, then stood back. In one swift movement, his shirt was over his head and he threw it across the room. It landed on a chair. Mickey's mouth hung open as Ian shrugged out of his pants, then slid his briefs off.

"Y-you just—"

"Your turn," Ian smiled, mischievously.

* * *

Mickey cried out as Ian's hand moved back and forth on his erection, almost frantically. He wasn't going to last if Ian continued to do this to him and he wanted to last. He wanted this night to last forever, because after this it was all over.

"Ian," he exhaled. "Please, Ian. I—I can't—"

"What do you want?" Ian asked, his blue eyes wild and bright.

Mickey couldn't think, his mind was clouded and the world was a blur. "Um," he paused. "Will-will you top?"

Ian raised an eyebrow again. It had been a long time since Ian had topped. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," Mickey nodded. "I want to feel you for the next few days and I want you to be able to walk tomorrow, so yeah, definitely sure."

"It.. It's been a while," Ian said, catching his bottom lip between his teeth. "Are you sure?" he asked again.

"Unless you don't want to."

"I want to."

"Good," Mickey said and he pushed himself up and reached over to grab the small tube of lube Ian kept in his side drawer. "Here you go, pretty boy, work your magic."

"My magic," Ian chuckled as he popped the cap open. He squeezed a blob onto his fingers, rubbed them together, then bent forward, his hand trailing down to find Mickey's opening. "Stop squirming," he said, once he had pressed a cool finger to his body.

After a few minutes of simply flicking his fingers across Mickey's entrance, Ian slipped a finger inside, slowly. Mickey winced at the intrusion, but insisted Ian keep going, so he did.

"Ian," Mickey managed after a while. "Ian, if you don't st-stop I won't—I can't, Ian—"

"Okay," Ian said, slowing his fingers. "Okay, relax."

Mickey groaned in frustration as Ian removed his fingers completely. Ian shushed him as he got himself ready. He moved up onto his knees and angled Mickey's legs around him.

"I bet you wish you hadn't insisted on topping all those times now," Ian smirked, placing a hand on Mickey's thigh.

"No," Mickey said, opening his golden eyes all the way to look up at Ian. "N-no regrets," he told him, breathing shaky. "Everything's worth it with you," he uttered. "Always worth it."

* * *

"I can stop," Ian looked down a t him as he winced beneath him. "If you need me to."

"Don't," Mickey said, quickly. "Don't you dare, Ian Gallagher, or—or I'll—"

"You'll what?" Ian grinned, quickening his thrusts. "What are you going to do, Mickey?"

Mickey swallowed and closed his eyes, Ian still smiling at him. He caught his bottom lip between his teeth in order to stop the whine from escaping his lips.

"Lie back and take it," Mickey replied, finally, his body pulsing with pain and pleasure and dizziness.

"Good," Ian hummed and moved his hips forward in a rhythm, pushing in and out of Mickey, quickly, his hands on either side of Mickey's body.

After that, Mickey couldn't form coherent words, he simply lay there and met Ian's thrusts with his own, their bodies moving together in a steady rhythm. Mickey's heart was hammering away inside his chest, so hard that he thought it might burst from its confines and all he wanted to do was pull Ian to him and grip on to him forever.

As if he could read Mickey's mind, Ian pulled Mickey into his arms, slowing his thrusts for a moment, but not stopping. He bent so that they were wrapped around each other, their chests pressed together, hearts beating fast. Mickey moaned a little, his emotions whirling. He couldn't tell if the small sobs escaping his lips were because of the sensation of Ian slipping in and out of him, or because of everything he was feeling, what with Ian leaving and the way his life was going. He thought it might have been a combination of everything.

He whimpered when Ian reached down and took his throbbing erection in his hand and began to match the thrusts of his hand with the thrusts of his hips and Mickey's eyes rolled back in his head and he couldn't any more, couldn't stop the loud cries from slipping out of his mouth. Ian smiled a little and bent to catch Mickey's lips with his own, probably to stifle the sounds, because after all, his dad was upstairs.

But Mickey was lost and he needed to just let himself go. He tore his mouth off Ian's and Ian tried to quieten him down. He pressed his mouth against Mickey's again, but Mickey only sucked Ian's bottom lip into his mouth. Ian chuckled a little, then his smile faded as he came closer and closer and Mickey knew he would come soon, he could see it in his half-lidded blue eyes. His thrusts were coming faster now and his hand was moving quickly and Mickey felt light headed as he came hard and fast under Ian's touch. He didn't have time to compose himself, because then Ian's hips were stuttering forward and he was coming, too, inside Mickey and they both moaned as Ian collapsed on top of him.

They stayed like that, just breathing for a long time, then Ian twisted his neck, so that his bright, cyan eyes were in line with Mickey's hazel ones.

"Are you okay?" Ian whispered.

"I'm going to love you every day for the rest of my life."

* * *

Their hands were clasped together as they lay there in the dark, slivers of light slipping through the small, rectangular windows at the top of the left wall.

"I'm going to call you every day, you know," Ian told him.

"I won't pick up."

"Rude," Ian said and Mickey could hear him smiling. "Why not?"

"Because it's easier that way," Mickey told him.

"No, it's not," Ian said. "How is not talking to one another easier?"

"It just is," Mickey told him. "I can't imagine hearing from you every day and not getting to be with you."

"Well, I can't imagine not hearing from you every day," Ian shot back.

"Fair point," Mickey said, quietly. "I still won't pick up, though."

"What if I really, really need to talk to you?"

"Then you text me beforehand telling me of your dire need to converse with me," Mickey smiled. "And then and only then will I pick up when you call."

"So, what's your plan?" Ian asked, twisting his fingers in Mickey's hand. "After I leave you're just going to act like I never existed?"

"Don't be ridiculous."

"I don't think I'm being ridiculous," Ian told him. "I mean, I understand why you think it's a bad idea for us to go on talking and stuff, because it will be hard, but are you going to just act like we never happened?"

Mickey rolled his eyes. "I'm going to have nothing but you on my mind for every second of the foreseeable future," Mickey said. "So, no, I'm not going to just at like we never happened."

"Okay."

Silence.

"I'm sorry," Mickey said, dropping on to his side, to face Ian. "I'm not mad, or anything. I'm just scared of everything. I don't know what to do."

"It's okay, babe," Ian said, turning to face him, too. He pushed himself up close, so that his arms were around is waist. "I'm scared, too."

"Don't be," Mickey smiled. "Everything will be fine. You'll love it out there. It's what you were born to do."

"What about you?" Ian asked, quietly. "What are you going to do? What were you born to do?"

"I," Mickey smiled, looping his arms around Ian's neck. "Was born to love you."

Ian chuckled and pressed a butterfly kiss to his lips. Mickey smiled and breathed him in, because this was it for real, this was the final night and he couldn't bring himself to ruin it with the threatening tears prickling at his eyes, he couldn't bring himself to make this a horrible night, filled with sadness and moping around. He needed to make this night good, memorable, perfect.

"Promise me you'll call me if you need to," Ian said. "I mean it, Mickey, if you need me, you pick up a phone and call me. If my dad tells me that—"

"I'll call you if I need you," Mickey assured him. "Happy?"

"Ecstatic," Ian said, flatly. "Did you mean it?"

"Mean what?"

"When you said you'd love me every day for the rest of your life," Ian provided. "Did you mean that?"

"Absolutely," Mickey said, not missing a beat.

"I'll love y—"

"Don't tell me that," Mickey said. "I can't hear that and then watch you go. It's selfish and unfair of me not to let you say it, but I'm sorry, I just can't hear it."

"Tough," Ian said, tightening his grip on Mickey's waist. "I'll never not love you. No matter what."

"Okay," Mickey exhaled. "You should sleep now."

"I don't want to," Ian said, but he yawned, then.

"Yes, you do," Mickey smiled. "Come on, sleep. I'll still be here in the morning."

"Promise?"

"What, that I'll still be here in the morning?"

"No," Ian said. "That you'll never stop loving me."

"Oh," Mickey said. "Yeah, I promise. I swear it on anything."

"Good," Ian said and he yawned again. "I love you, Mickey."

"I love you, too," Mickey told him, placing a small kiss to the tip of Ian's nose. "I love you."

Then Ian moved in and laid his head in that space between Mickey's neck and shoulder and Mickey held him closer and they fell asleep like that, listening to one another's breathing and the sound of their hearts beating, just holding on to each other, for the very, very last time.

* * *

"Yes, dad, I have everything," Ian smiled, rolling his eyes a bit. He looked across at Carole and Finn sitting on the couch. Finn was watching the TV, while Carole smiled and looked teary-eyed.

"I can't believe you boys are going to college all ready," she said. Finn was going to New York, too, with Rachel, so he and Ian were going together, because their parents were dating. Rachel was going with her dads.

"Time flies," Frank smiled, sitting down next to Carole. "You guys had better get going."

"Yeah," Finn said, standing up. "I'll put your things in the car, okay, dude?" he said, looking at Ian.

"Thanks, Finn," Ian smiled, then looked at his dad. "I'm just going to go talk to Mickey for a minute, okay?"

"Sure thing, kiddo," Frank smiled, back and Ian turned around and headed downstairs, where Mickey was in his room, making sure he wasn't forgetting anything.

He pushed the door open and saw Mickey sitting on the bed, staring at his hands in his lap.

"You okay?"

Mickey looked up quickly. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah, fine."

"We've gotta get going in a few," he told Mickey.

"I know," Mickey said, then patted the bed next to him. Ian went and sat down. "I'm going to miss you like you wouldn't even believe," he told Ian. "Seriously."

"I'm going to miss you, too," Ian nodded. "I'm going to miss you every second of every day."

Mickey sighed and moved forward for a kiss. Ian kissed him back, entwining his arms around his neck as Mickey's arms encircled his waist. Mickey murmured against his lips and Ian deepened the kiss, not worrying about going slow and making it last any more. He needed to be as close to Mickey as possible, to hold him so close that one body couldn't be deciphered from the other.

Eventually, the broke away for air. "I owe you everything, you know that, don't you?" Mickey smiled up at him, his voice breaking a bit. His eyes were glistening and Ian knew he was trying his best not to cry. "You saved me from myself. You made me see that everything I thought I was was a lie, that everything about my life was fake and ridiculous. You made me fall in love with you and you made me a better person."

"You would have gotten there by yourself," Ian smiled. "You know, eventually."

"Yeah, when it was too late," Mickey said. "I just want you to know how much that means to me—how much _you_ mean to me."

Ian nodded, smiling, unable to stop the tears from trickling out of his eyes and down his face.

"I don't want you to worry about me out there," Mickey went on. "I mean, I know you can't help worrying, but I just want you to concentrate on you. I'll be okay, I will."

"Are you sure?" Ian asked, sounding choked. "Because if you're not—"

"I'm sure," Mickey nodded. "I'll find myself. I'll be okay."

"Good," Ian said, exhaling. "I want you to be okay."

"Guess this is it," Mickey uttered. "You'd better get going."

"Will you come upstairs?"

Mickey looked unsure. "I don't—"

"Please, Mickey?" Ian pleaded. "I want yours to be the last face I see before I leave this damned place."

"Okay," Mickey nodded.

Ian reached down and took Mickey's wrist in his hands. He lifted it up and pushed back his sleeve, revealing the bracelet. He held his own wrist up, too. "What about these?"

"I'll never take mine off," Mickey said. "If you want to, that's okay, I'll unders—"

"Never taking it off," Ian ensured him. "Not ever."

Mickey smiled and it made Ian's heart contract a bit. He saw a single tear slip out of Mickey's eye then. "I said I wouldn't do this," Mickey uttered, wiping at his eyes.

"It's okay if you do," Ian said. "I won't mind."

"I don't want you to feel bad about going."

"I'll feel bad whether you cry or not."

"Are you nervous?" Mickey smiled, grabbing Ian's hand.

"Really nervous," Ian answered.

"Don't be," Mickey grinned. "You're going to be amazing. This is the beginning. You're going to make it huge."

"I'll try my best," Ian smiled, tears still falling.

Mickey reached up and caught them with his thumb. "I have faith in you," he told him. "You're amazing."

"So are you," Ian replied. "You'll call me if you need me, right?"

"I said I would."

"Just making sure," Ian said.

"This is it," Mickey said, then. "This is goodbye, for real."

"Mickey—"

Ian didn't get to finish his sentence, because Mickey was kissing him again, gently this time, his mouth moving slowly, taking Ian's breath away, making his heart race in his chest, wildly, his body quivering a little. He pulled back then and Mickey's face was tear stained and they didn't say another word. Mickey gave him a small nod, then stood up and outstretched a hand to him.

Ian took it and they went upstairs.

* * *

"Promise me you'll watch him," Ian whispered in Frank's ear while he hugged him goodbye.

"You know I will," Frank whispered back.

They broke apart and Ian sniffed a bit, wiping away his tears.

"You call me when you get there," Frank said, giving Ian a pat on the back.

"I will, dad," Ian told him.

"You, too, Finn," Carole said to Finn, who was standing by the door.

"I'll make sure he does," Ian assured her, then he turned to look at Mickey. He smiled. "Come here, you," Ian said and he went closer to him.

Mickey wasn't really smiling, nor was he really frowning, he just looked sort of neutral standing there. Ian pulled him into a hug and he heard Mickey sighing against his body. He stopped trying not to cry then and just let the tears flow freely. He thought Mickey might be crying, too, because he was shaking a little in his arms.

"We'll never really be through, you know that, don't you?" Ian asked, quietly.

"I like to think that's true," Mickey answered, tightening his grip on Ian, like he didn't want to let go.

"It is true," Ian told him.

"I love you, pretty boy," Mickey whispered, very quietly into his ear.

"I love you, too," Ian whispered back. "I always will."

"Me, too," Mickey said. "You have to let me go, Ian."

"I can't."

"You have to," Mickey said. "Let go, baby."

Ian sobbed in his arms as Mickey pulled gently away. "Go on, get out of here," he said, smiling, but Ian could tell he was just trying not to break. He held onto his hand for another few moments.

"Don't forget," Mickey said, quietly.

"Never," Ian told him, his heart twisting in his chest.

Then he let go.

* * *

Mickey watched as the car pulled out of the driveway, Ian's bright blue eyes, watery and glistening, still staring at him as it went. Mickey stood next to Frank and Carole and watched Ian go, watched as the car got smaller and smaller and the boy with the bright blue eyes that meant more to him than anything else in the world, got farther and farther away. The car disappeared into the distance and so did the boy, and it wasn't until Mickey went back to Ian's room and buried his head in the pillows, breathing in his scent, his heart aching painfully in his chest, that he allowed himself to really and truly cry, because he would never get to hold him ever again and nothing else in the whole entire world could have hurt more.

That was it, now. He had nothing left.

Mickey was completely and utterly alone.


	36. Chapter 36

**Chapter 36:**

"Dad," Ian said, once Frank had picked up the phone.

"Hey, Ian," Frank said, happily. "How's it going?"

"Fine," he said. "Where is he?"

Frank sighed. "In your room."

"Does he _ever_ come out?"

Every time Ian called, Frank told him Mickey was in his room. He refused to speak to him, never picked up the phone and Ian hadn't heard a word from him since he had left two weeks earlier.

"When he gets hungry," Frank said. "And when he goes to work."

Ian rolled his eyes. "Can't you trick him out? Make him think someone else is on the phone and then he'll be forced to talk to me?"

"Ian," Frank said in a warning tone.

"Please, dad?" Ian begged. "I just need to know he's okay."

"He's fine, I told you," Frank assured him. "Stop worrying."

"Just try for me," Ian urged. "It's important."

Ian had tried texting Mickey, telling him needed desperately to speak with him, but it was like Mickey knew. He'd gotten no reply.

"Fine," Frank sighed, tiredly, then shouted. "Mickey! Phone!"

A few minutes later, Ian heard Mickey's muffled voice on the other end.

"I know it's him," he said. "I won't talk to him."

"Dad, put me on loud speaker."

Frank put him on loud speaker and Ian suddenly felt nervous, but he had to talk to Mickey. He needed to.

"You asshole," were the first words he said. "Do you know what date it is?"

"I'll just leave you guys alone," Frank said, quietly and Ian heard a shuffling sound, then a door closing. Now it was just him and Mickey.

"I know what date it is," Mickey said, flatly. It was good to hear his voice again. "Which is why I'm hanging up and going back downstairs."

"Don't you dare!" Ian said, quickly. "I've been calling you every single day since I left."

"And I told you I wasn't going to pick up."

"You said you'd pick up if I said I needed you," Ian pointed out.

"Yeah, but I knew why you needed to talk to me so badly today," Mickey shot back. "And I don't want to talk to you."

"You're being ridiculous," Ian told him.

"Maybe," he mumbled. "But it's better this way."

There was complete silence for a few seconds, then Ian spoke, "It doesn't feel like a year, does it?"

"Yes and no," Mickey said, quietly. "I feel like I just met you yesterday, but sometimes I feel like I've known you forever."

Ian smiled, sadly. He had missed this, the way Mickey spoke, the things he said that Ian never expected to hear him say. He wished he wouldn't shut him out, wished he would give in and talk to him again.

"Talk to me for today?" Ian asked. "In celebration of us knowing each other a whole year?"

"I don't thi—"

"Please, Mickey?" Ian said. "Please pick up the phone."

There was silence again, then Ian heard more shuffling, a loud bleeping sound, followed by the faint sound of breathing.

"I'm listening."

"I miss you."

"Don't say that," Mickey said.

Ian sat back on his bed with a sigh. "Why not?" he asked. "It's true."

"What's it like out there?" Mickey asked, as if Ian hadn't even spoken. "I mean, are you getting on okay?"

"Yeah," Ian nodded, forgetting that Mickey couldn't see him. "It's different to high school, obviously, but I'm doing okay. What about you?"

"I'm fine."

"Really."

"Yeah," Mickey said. "Look, after this, can you just not call me any more? I know that sounds horrible, but I can't—Ian, I just can't, okay?"

Ian realised it was the first time he had said his name, the word sounding so different coming from his lips, to how it sounded when others said it.

"I'm hurting, too, you know," Ian said, quietly. "I know you think this is all about you, Mickey and I know you're going through a lot, but this is far from easy for me. So, stop acting like you're the only one affected by this."

Mickey was quiet, then said, "I'm sorry." Ian said nothing, hoping he would go on. "I just think we're better off like this," he told Ian. "I just don't think it's a good idea to hold on to something that just—just doesn't mean anything any more."

Ian felt his heart breaking into tiny pieces inside his chest. He was caught between wanting to bury his head in his pillows and sob and wanting to pick up the ugly lamp that he kept meaning to get rid of, which had been left in the apartment and flinging it at the wall.

"Doesn't mean any.. Okay," he said. "Okay, fine, Mickey. Fuck you, too."

And then he hung up.

And instantly regretted it.

* * *

 **1 NEW MESSAGE FROM: Ian.**

 _I'm sorry. Don't shut me out, not today._

Mickey groaned and threw his phone to the side, then grabbed a pillow and put it over his face. It was useless, it smelled like Ian. Every where he looked, it reminded him of Ian and all he wanted to do at this point was forget, because even though that was awful and a really stupid thing to do, it would be much easier.

He wished he could just go back to the beginning and change everything, because his entire life seemed to have fallen down around him and there was no fixing that, even if it had all been consequences of him doing the right thing.

The fact was that doing the right thing sucked sometimes.

* * *

Ian didn't hear from Mickey until a week before Christmas (technically untrue, because he had gotten a simple 'Happy Birthday' on his birthday, but nothing more than that), though it wasn't for the want of trying. Ian had called him almost every day, to no avail. His heart leapt inside his chest when he saw Mickey's name showing up on his phone with 'incoming call' above it.

"Mickey," he said, a little too eagerly, but he didn't care, Mickey was calling.

"Don't," Mickey said, quietly. "I just want to know if you're coming home for winter break, so that I can make arrangements to be some place else."

Ian's heart sank and he frowned. "Are you serious?"

He had been counting on winter break as a means of getting Mickey to speak to him. He had planned it out in his mind. If Mickey saw him face to face, maybe he would change his mind, realise he still loved him. Apparently that wasn't going to happen any time soon.

"Yes," was all Mickey said.

"I.." Ian paused. "I'll stay here."

"Don't stay there because of me."

"I'm not." He was.

"Okay," Mickey said, obviously not wanting to have to talk to Ian any longer than was necessary. He paused and Ian wondered if he had hung up, but he hadn't. "Are you... How have you, um, been?"

"Okay," Ian said, calmly, ignoring the urge to shout at him for not speaking to him for months. "I.. You? Are you okay?"

"I guess."

"Mickey—"

"Don't," Mickey said, sounding weary. Ian wondered if he was getting enough sleep.

Ian didn't want to get mad and have Mickey hang up on him, because it was possible he would wait another three months to speak to him again and that was the last thing he needed.

"There was a time when you loved me, you know," Ian uttered.

He heard Mickey sigh and he knew he wanted to say something, but he didn't. He just hung up.

Ten minutes later, Ian's phone vibrated on the coffee table.

 **1 NEW MESSAGE FROM: Mickey.**

 _I still do._

* * *

"Mickey!"

Mickey sat up and rubbed his eyes. He shuffled off of Ian's bed and climbed the stairs, like they were some huge obstacle that he could barely manage. When he reached the top, he found Frank standing there.

"Hey, kid," he said. "Dinner."

Mickey gave him a half-smile. He felt awful being such a burden on Frank, who was supposed to be enjoying his alone time. He had offered to pay rent, but Frank wouldn't allow it. He said he was happy to do it. It amazed Mickey that there were people like this in the world, good people who expected nothing in return for their kindness. The world needed far more Frank Gallaghers.

They sat down at the table and began eating and Frank was watching him carefully.

"So, Mickey," he said after a while. "Have you heard from Ian?"

"No."

"He said he called you."

"He did," Mickey affirmed. "A few times." A couple hundred, at least. "I just—I can't..."

"No, I understand," Frank said, taking a sip from his glass of water. "I just don't think you're doing yourself any favours not talkin' to him."

Mickey didn't say anything, just moved his peas around his plate with his fork.

"Have you spoken to your parents?"

Mickey looked up at that. "No," he said, truthfully. "I haven't heard from them."

"Don't you think you should contact them? Let them know you're okay?" Frank asked. "I bet they're worried about you."

"You think.. No," Mickey shook his head. "No, if they were worried they would have found me by now."

"Sometimes people are too stubborn to go looking," Frank shrugged. "Maybe you should put your own stubbornness aside and work things out."

Mickey stared down at his mashed potato and had a strong feeling that Frank wasn't only referring to the situation with his parents.

* * *

"Ian, put the phone down," Rachel said, walking into his apartment.

Ian looked up at her and frowned at her for coming in unannounced and then for how she was dressed. Her white sweater had a pink deer silhouette on it and he looked away before he could analyse her lower half.

"Where's Finn?"

"Upstairs," she said, sitting down. She grabbed a magazine off the table and flicked through it. "He's in the shower."

Ian nodded and hit the green button on his phone again, redialling Mickey's number.

"He won't pick up, you know."

"Shut up, Rachel."

"Don't take it out on me!"

"I can if I like, you're in my apartment," Ian retorted.

Rachel smiled. "You're too uptight," she said. "Go out and find a nice boy who'll answer your calls, Ian."

He wondered at what point he was going to have to give up and do just that. Ian rolled his eyes and redialled.

He wasn't giving up on him, not yet.

* * *

Mickey hung up his Lima Bean apron and said goodbye to the girl who had just started her shift (Mickey thought her name might be Sandra, but he wasn't certain). He pulled the front door opened and walked out into the brisk January air. He pulled his jacket across his chest and shivered, before turning to walk towards his car, but something stopped him in his tracks.

Mickey watched as his dad stopped his car across the parking lot, then turned to the person next to him, said something, then got out of the car. Mickey walked quickly away from the coffee shop, so that his dad couldn't see him and watched as he went inside the Lima Bean. Mickey looked over at his dad's car, hoping to see his mom sitting there, but he knew in his heart that it was going to be someone else, of the female sex and probably someone he did not know. He was right. The woman sitting in the passenger's seat was younger than his mom, maybe late twenties, early thirties. She had red hair and beyond that, Mickey couldn't see much more. He felt his blood boiling, because although he had been aware for a long time that his dad was sleeping around, he had never actually seen it firsthand. He wanted to run inside and scream at his dad, tell him to go home to his wife, but Mickey figured he would get fired and his job was the only thing that really got him out of the house any more. Instead, he clenched his fists, bit his tongue and went to his car. He got inside and drove back to Ian's house.

When he got there, he found a note on the fridge from Frank, saying he had to stay late at the garage, but to eat whatever was there. Mickey made a sandwich, ate half of it, then went back down to Ian's room and lay on the bed for a half an hour. Ian called twice during that thirty minutes, Mickey didn't pick up. He started to get restless then, because he kept replaying all the bad things over and over in his head. Finally, he got up, groaned and left the house.

* * *

Mickey felt a little dizzy sitting there, at the back of Breadstix. It was freezing out, he really should have just gone home and slept. He sat there, sipping his second (at least he thought it was his second) can of beer, ignoring the employees who stared at him with disapproval when they came out to put out the garbage.

"Don't you have a home to go to?" one of the guys asked.

Mickey sat back against the wall and sighed. He couldn't really remember. "Have you ever lost something you could never get back?" he slurred. The guy raised an eyebrow at him. "No, really. Have you?"

"I.." the guy looked confused. "I lost my keys this morning?" He made it a question.

"Love is like.." Mickey's head was pounding. What was he even saying any more? "Like.. Yeah. Love is like garbage, man."

"Okay.. I've got to g—"

"I mean, it doesn't start out like garbage," Mickey rambled on. "It starts out good, y'know? Then it's gone. It ends up in a bin and then it's crushed and it just—just rots away."

The guy looked at Mickey as if he had three heads.

"Well," Mickey said thoughtfully, taking another sip of his can. "Maybe it's not really like garbage.."

"Alrighty then," the guy said, slowly. "I'll be going. Have a good life, bro." And with that he disappeared back inside the restaurant. Mickey laughed to himself. He didn't need company. He needed more alcohol and maybe some jelly beans. Jelly beans would be good right now.

 _"Milkovich?"_

Mickey turned and saw a familiar face staring at him. "Go.. Go home, Kenny. I don't like you." He hated Kenny. He wanted to stand up and empty his beer over his head, but that would be a waste of beer.

"Dude, you're a mess."

"Screw you."

"I offered to let you and you turned me down," Kenny smirked. "The offer no longer stands. Besides, you're too short for me, it would never work out. What are you doing anyway?"

"Having a party," Mickey smiled to himself. This was the best party he had ever thrown. People were so overrated. Solo parties. Why hadn't he thought of this years ago? "It's my birthday."

"Oh. Well, happy birthday, then. Mickey," Kenny said, sitting down next to him on the cold, hard concrete. "Dude, go home."

"I don't have a home."

"I thought you were staying at Gallagher's."

"I am?" Mickey asked, grinning. "Cool. I should say thanks to Frank for letting me stay, right? He's, like, the nicest guy alive, seriously. Have you met him? Man's a saint. Hey, do you have any jelly beans?"

"Uh, no," Kenny said, looking amused. "I was just picking up some lasagne for Iggy's mom. Do you need a ride?"

"No, I lost my bike. And my dad didn't take off the back wheels yet!"

"He didn't take off the.. Okay." Kenny shook his head. "Wow. How much have you had?"

"Oh!" Mickey sat up straight. "My phone's ringing! Where.. Ah, here it is! Hello? Helloooooo?"

* * *

"Mickey?" Ian said, in surprise. He hadn't expected him to pick up. "Are you.. Is everything okay? You sound sort of—"

"Ian!" Mickey said, excitedly. "Ian, is that you? Ian, please come home. I don't want to sleep alone any more. It's too cold."

He was drunk. Ian sighed and fell back against the couch. He had been hoping Mickey was staying away from alcohol, because it would get him into trouble. Also, he had hoped Mickey had picked up because he wanted to, not because him being drunk made him forget he was ignoring Ian.

"Mickey, where are you?"

"In the Hundred Acre Wood, Christopher Robin!" Mickey told him.

Ian would have laughed had circumstances been different, but he was far too concerned for that. "Mickey," Ian said, trying to remain calm. "What do you see around you?"

"Walls," Mickey told him, happily. "Walls and—garbage. So much garbage. It smells really bad. I wish you were here."

Ian couldn't think where Mickey might be, because that didn't give much away. "Um, okay," he said, carefully. "Mickey, what else do you see?"

"Kenny," Mickey said and Ian widened his eyes. "Go away, Kenny! Ian and I don't want you here!"

Ian heard a muffled voice on the other end. "Mickey," he said, then. "Can you hand the phone to Kenny for a second?"

"No," Mickey said, sounding uppity. "I want to talk to you."

"It's only for a minute, okay?" Ian soothed. "Give the phone to Kenny and we can talk again in a sec, okay?"

"Fine."

There was a shuffling sound, then Kenny spoke, "Hey, Gallagher," he said and Ian could picture his smirking face, his dark eyes filled with amusement.

"Where are you guys?" Ian asked, ignoring his flirty tone.

"I found your boy outside Breadstix, sitting amongst the garbage cans. Out of his mind drunk," Kenny chuckled. "He probably doesn't even know his own name right now."

"Fuck," Ian whispered. "Can you take him back to my house?"

"I've got to get home, Humm—"

"You sort of owe me a favour, Kenneth," Ian pointed out. "I had bruised ribs for weeks because of you. Now pick him up, put him in your car and take him to my house."

"God, _fine_ , Gallagher," Kenny groaned.

"Put him back on once you've got him in the car."

Ian waited then and it was about five minutes later that he heard Mickey's voice on the other end of the phone. He heard a door slamming and a car starting up.

"Ian?" Mickey said, sounding sleepy. "Ian, are you there? Ian?"

"Shh," Ian said, quietly. "I'm here, Mickey. I'm here."

"Ian, I miss you," Mickey told him and he didn't sound excited any more. He sounded tired and sad. "I just—I want you to come home and love me again."

Ian frowned and he felt his chest aching a little. "I miss you, too," Ian told him. "I miss you every single day."

"I just love you so much, baby," Mickey told him, emphasising the 'o' sound in 'so'. "I just—I love you and I can't stop. Why don't you love me any more?"

"Jesus Christ, Milkovich," Ian heard Kenny say. He rolled his eyes and ignored him.

"Mickey," Ian said, softly. He felt as if his heart was breaking inside his chest. "I do love you. I do, I promise."

"Then why are you so far away?" Mickey asked, with a sigh.

"I have to be," Ian told him. "Mickey, look—"

"What the fuck, Milkovich?" Kenny said, loudly. "Are you _crying?_ "

Ian felt helpless, because he wanted to pick Mickey up in his arms and hold him until he was okay again. He didn't know what to do.

"No! Shut up, Kenny!" Mickey said.

"Ignore him, Mickey," Ian said. "Ignore him and talk to me, okay?"

"I miss your eyes, Ian," Mickey said, sadly. "I miss holding your hand and looking at the stars with you and kissing you and making you laugh."

"I miss all that, too," Ian told him. "Hey, happy birthday, by the way. I tried calling earlier today."

"Remember last year on my birthday Rachel gave me a Build-a-Bear voucher?" Mickey said, sounding a little brighter. "I never used that..."

"I remember," Ian smiled a bit. "I told you not to let the date expire on that thing."

"I know," Mickey said. "Silly me." Ian laughed a bit. "Hey, Ian?"

"Hmm?"

"You really still love me?"

"More than ever," Ian told him, truthfully. "You're kind of breaking my heart, here, Mickey. I wish you'd answer my calls."

"I want to."

"You should," Ian urged. "It hurts not talking to you."

"It hurts me, too," Mickey told him. "I love you, baby."

"Love you, too, babe," Ian smiled, but he felt like his heart was being torn from his chest.

"Love you so much," Mickey told him, voice slurred. "When do I get to see you again?"

"You'd want to see me again?" Ian asked. He knew it was the drink talking, but it still meant something. It had to.

"You're all I ever want to see."

"Good God," Ian heard Kenny say, then, "Ouch! Jesus, Milkovich! Your elbows are pointy! Jeez!"

Ian smiled. "Serves him right," he said. "Hey, Mickey?"

"Yeah?" Mickey said. "I love you, you know that, right?"

"I know," Ian nodded again. "I love you, too. Listen, when you go home you go straight to bed, okay? I'll give you a call tomorrow. Will you pick up?"

"Yeah," Mickey told him. "My neighbour has a pick up truck."

Ian scoffed a little. "That's great, Mickey," he told him. "Are you almost home?"

"Kenny, that's Ian's house!"

"No, it's the next one," Kenny told Mickey. "Now will you stop tugging on my sleeve?"

"Ian. We're at your house now," Mickey told him and Ian heard the engine dying. "Kenny, let me go! I don't want your filthy mitts on me! I have a boyfriend, stop that!"

"Mickey, he's just going to take you inside, okay?" Ian told Mickey, secretly marvelling in the fact that he was still referring to him as his boyfriend. "Relax."

A few minutes later, Mickey was talking again. "Hi, pretty boy."

"Hey, Mickey," Ian smiled, his heart doing a little flip. He had missed Mickey calling him that. "Where are you?"

"In your room," Mickey apprised him. "I'm on your bed and it smells like you. I wish you were here."

"I wish I was there, too," Ian said and he meant it, because as much as he liked New York, Mickey was still very much home to him. "Get into bed and I'll stay on until you go asleep, okay?"

Ian waited until the shuffling sounds had ended and Mickey was breathing on the other end again, before he spoke. "In bed?"

"Mm hmm."

"Close your eyes."

"I did."

"Good," Ian smiled. "You don't have to say anything, just listen to me, all right?"

"Mm hmm," Mickey said, again. "Ian."

"Yeah?"

"I don't want to be like this forever," he said, quietly.

"Like what?"

"Lonely," Mickey said, voice sounding a bit choked. "My mom and dad think there's something wrong with me. Maybe there is. Is there something wrong with me?"

"There's nothing wrong with you, Mickey," Ian assured him. "Trust me."

"Okay," Mickey said. "But no one cares about me. I'm nothing."

"I care," Ian said, quickly. "You're everything to me."

"I love you."

"And I love you," Ian told him, feeling sick. Mickey sounded as if he was just giving up.

"What happens when you stop?"

"I'm not going to stop."

"Yes, you will," Mickey said. "Everyone does."

"Not me," Ian said, feeling a bit panicked. "Mickey, are you—"

"I love you," Mickey said, softly and within seconds he was snoring quietly. Ian listened to him there for a long time, before he felt his own eyes closing.

"I love you, too," he whispered, finally, then hung up and went to bed, unsure of just how he should be feeling. For one, he had finally spoken to Mickey and he still loved him, but Mickey was breaking and he couldn't do anything about it.

Mickey was torn and Ian was helpless, but they loved each other and that had to count for something, didn't it? Ian hoped so.

* * *

"Hi," Ian said on the other end of the phone.

It had taken Mickey half the day to pluck up the courage and call him to apologise for the night before.

"Hi," he replied. "I'm, um, sorry about last night."

"I'm not," Ian said. "It's the first time you've talked to me properly since I left."

"I was drunk."

"Which means you were telling the truth," Ian pointed out.

"It doesn't change anything," Mickey said. "I still don't want to talk to you."

"That's a lie," Ian said and Mickey sighed. "You can cut the crap. I know what you're doing. Not picking up my calls doesn't mean how you feel is going to go away." Mickey didn't say anything, because Ian was right. Ian was always right. "Why can't you just admit you still love me and talk to me like a normal person?"

"Because I'm scared that if we talk daily, you'll eventually find someone else and then you won't want to talk to me any more and then it'll just hurt," Mickey admitted. "I don't know if you've noticed, but my life isn't exactly fun and games at the moment. It hasn't been for almost a year now. I'm done getting myself into situations that leave me stranded. So this is the final call. If you're in severe trouble, by all means, call me, I'll be here. I always will, but other than that, I can't do it. I can't."

"So, what, you're just going to hang up on me now?" Mickey stayed silent, because he had been about to hang up. "It's hilarious how you claim you love me so much, yet the second I tell you how I feel, you just hang up like it means nothing to you. Go ahead, Mickey, hang up on me. Run away. That's what you've been doing for years, isn't it?"

Mickey didn't say anything.

"Sorry," Ian said, after a few seconds. "That wasn't fair. I just.. I miss you, okay? I miss talking to you and I understand your concerns, I really do, but I need you to understand how much this hurts me, okay? I don't know what to do, Mickey. I want to talk to you. Okay, if you really don't want to talk to me, then don't, I'll respect that and I won't call any more, but if it hurts you as much as it hurts me, then just pick up the phone, okay?"

"I can't," Mickey groaned. "Can we just leave it now? I just want to move on with my life."

"So, that's it?" Ian asked and Mickey wished he could just go climb into bed and sleep. He couldn't deal with this any more.

"Ian," Mickey said, carefully. "I'm not as strong as you. I don't know how to deal with this. I just need time, okay?"

"Okay," Ian said and his voice had softened. "I'm sorry. I just.. I miss you."

"Me, too," Mickey told him. "But I'm going to hang up now, okay?"

"Fine," Ian sighed. "Before you go, I love you. I just need you to know that. You can hang up now."

Mickey paused, his stomach whirling. "I love you, too."

He hung up and closed his eyes, his heart hammering painfully in his chest. But then his phone rang again. He looked down at the screen and his eyes widened as round as saucers when e saw the caller I.D.

 _ **Incoming call: Dad.**_

Mickey took a deep breath and pressed the receive button. He raised the phone to his ear and spoke, voice a little hoarse.

"Hello?"


	37. Chapter 37

**Chapter 37:**

"My dad wants me to go home and talk with him," Mickey told Frank after he had hung up. He was still shaking a little, his fists clenched to stop himself from crumbling.

"Well," Frank said. "Is that a good thing?"

Mickey shrugged. "No idea," he said. "He says to wait until he has time, so I don't know when that will be."

Frank nodded. "At least it's something, right?"

"I guess."

Frank smiled, gave him a pat on the shoulder, then left the room. Mickey wished he could call Ian and tell him about it, but he was sticking to his word. He would do this by himself.

* * *

"Do you want me to go with you, Mickey?" Frank asked, following Mickey out into the hall. "I can leave the garage for an hour, or so."

"No, it's fine," Mickey smiled, gratefully. "Thank you, though. I'll be okay."

"Okay," Frank looked sceptical as he opened the front door. "Call if you need anything."

"I will. Thanks, Frank," Mickey said. "I'll see you later."

"Good luck."

Mickey walked outside and shut the door behind him, then got in his car and headed for his parents' house. It had been three weeks since his father had called him and said he wanted to talk. He'd called him the night before saying he wanted to see him today and Mickey said he'd be there after his shift at the coffee shop.

Mickey had no idea what he could possibly want, but he was about to find out.

* * *

"Your mother wants to talk with you," Mickey's dad said, flatly when he opened the front door. He didn't even really look at Mickey, simply opened the door, gave him a look of disapproval, then spoke. "She's in the living room. I'll be in the kitchen."

Mickey watched as his dad walked away. He stood there for a couple of heartbeats, then walked inside and shut the door. He headed into the living room and found his mother sitting on the sofa, studying her nails.

"Um, mom?" Mickey said, quietly and she looked up, quickly.

"Oh, Mickey," she said. "Sit down."

Mickey sat down facing her. They both just sat there staring at one another for a few moments, then his mom spoke. "Are you still...?" she trailed off, but Mickey knew what she was asking.

"Am I still gay?" he said. "Yes, mom, I'm still gay. Always have been, always will be."

"Oh," she said, looking disappointed. Mickey was used to that look by now, but that didn't mean it didn't hurt. "What a shame."

He felt sick, sitting there in the familiar room, the room where there had been more fights than happy times. The room in which his dad had bruised his ribs so badly when he was fourteen, that he couldn't even sit up properly for over a week. He shuddered at the memory and all he wanted to do was leave there and never go back.

"Was there something you wanted?" Mickey asked, finally.

"No," she told him. "I thought that by now you'd have realised how wrong it is, what you're doing."

Mickey rolled his eyes, almost instinctively. "There's nothing wrong with me being gay, mom," Mickey said, standing up. "What is wrong, however, is how I've had to live for the past year or so. Nice talking to you—actually, no. It hasn't been nice talking to you. It's been the opposite of nice. So, good luck, mom. Thanks for nothing."

Mickey walked out leaving her sitting there and went into the kitchen, his heart beating rapidly in his chest. It was time to face his dad now. He found him sitting at the dinner table with his arms crossed over his chest.

"Have a seat, Mickey," he said, not showing any emotion. "I have a proposition for you."

Mickey sat down.

* * *

"Are you oka—"

"I don't want to talk about it right now," Mickey said, rushing past Frank and heading towards the stairs. Frank was watching him, face twisted into a concerned expression, his eyes wide and filled with worry.

"Mickey, is everyth—"

"Can I tell you about it later?" Mickey asked, stomach aching. "Please?"

Frank eyed him curiously for a moment, then nodded. "All right," he said. "Shout if you need anything."

Mickey gave him a small nod, then continued on down the stairs. He shut the door behind him and collapsed down onto Ian's bed and buried his head in the pillows, breathing in his scent, wanting more than anything to have him there to hold him and tell him it would be okay.

He almost did it, almost called Ian. He took his phone from his pocket and brought his number to the screen. His shaking thumb hovered over the green button, but he stopped himself, because he didn't want to burden Ian with his sob story.

Instead, he took the pillow in his arms and held it close to him. He closed his eyes and cried himself to sleep, because things had just gotten a hundred times worse.

* * *

"Dad?" Ian answered his phone. Ian always worried when his dad called because he always imagined the worst. Especially since Frank had had heart problems. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, fine," Frank assured him and Ian sat back, sighing with relief. "I just thought I should give you a call and tell you about Mickey."

Ian's heart sank. He hadn't heard from Mickey, still. He hadn't stopped calling, in hopes that he would eventually pick up, even if it was just to tell him to leave him alone. "Mickey?" he asked, a little breathlessly. "Is he—"

"It's nothing fatal, Ian, calm down," Frank said, but Ian couldn't help it. He was worried. "It's just that.. Have you talked with him?"

Ian sighed. "No," he said. "He doesn't pick up. Ever."

"Well," Frank said, sighing a little, too. "His dad asked to meet him a few days ago." Ian sat up. "He hasn't really come out of the room since. I've started sending his meals down."

Ian caught his bottom lip between his teeth and shook his head. "Can't you make him tell you what happened?" he asked, voice a little high, though he knew no one could make Mickey do anything by force. "He won't talk to me, so I can't ask. Dad—"

"Ian," Frank said, calmly. "Ian, calm down. I'll try talk to him again later. I just thought you'd want to know."

Ian sat back and shut his eyes, exhaling, his mind racing with all these crazy thoughts and bad things and speculations. He opened his eyes again, then and said, "Do you think he hates me, dad?"

"Hates you?" Frank exclaimed. "Are you nuts? The kid's head over heels for you, Ian. He's just going through a hard time. He'll come round."

"You think so?" Ian uttered, quietly, hopefully.

"I hear how he talks about you, Ian," Frank said, softly. "I know so."

* * *

Mickey shut off the computer when he heard a soft rap on Ian's bedroom door. He got up, stretched a bit and went to open the door. He found Carole Hudson standing there, a concerned look on her face.

"Mickey, honey," she said, tilting her head a little. "I—I was just wondering if you wanted to come upstairs, instead of being stuck down here on your own?"

Mickey knew that Frank had called her and asked her to come over, just to see if she could get any response from him. He twisted his mouth into a smile.

"Um, thanks," he said. "I just—yes."

* * *

"So, that's it?" Frank asked, after Mickey had told him everything that had happened with his parents. "It's—"

"Over," Mickey nodded. "Totally and completely over."

Carole and Frank exchanged a blank look then and Mickey just sat there, breathing steadily. "Mickey," Carole said, finally. "You don't seem.. Well. Upset. Don't you think—"

"I'm done being upset over people who could give less than a crap about me," Mickey shook his head. "I've been stuck in this—this rut and I didn't know how to get out of it, but I see it now. I've figured it all out. Which is why I have to leave Ohio, leave all the bad things and the hatred and the accusing stares and the bad feelings that are here." He paused, trying to keep everything straight in his head. "Oh!" he said, suddenly. "Not you guys. You've been amazing. Without you, I would have lost every last ounce of faith in the world, in humanity. Thank you for everything."

Carole looked alarmed and Frank was staring at Mickey like he had just announced he was going to go skipping through town wearing nothing but his boxer shorts, throwing confetti and reciting Shakespeare sonnets.

"Mickey, where are you going to go?" Frank asked finally.

"I don't know yet," Mickey said, smiling. "I just need to leave."

"Will.. Will we ever see you again?" Carole asked, dramatically. Mickey could see now why Finn and Rachel made such a good couple.

The truth was, he didn't know. He assumed he would end up back in Ohio at some point, he just wasn't sure when or what the circumstances would be. He shrugged, still smiling and exhaled. "I have to do this. It's the only way to escape the past."

"You can't escape the past," Frank shook his head. "Not really. And what about Ian?"

Mickey frowned, then. Ian was the one thing he knew he couldn't ever really run away from. "I don't know," he muttered. "He's better off without me. I'll—I'll call him. Eventually. Let him know I'm okay. I just—This is for the best. I can feel it."

"When are you leaving?" Frank asked.

"Tomorrow."

* * *

"You keep checking your watch," Frank noticed the next day at dinner. "Are you in that much of a rush to get out of here?"

"No," Mickey said, quickly. "No, of course not. I'm waiting on a phone call."

"A phone call," Frank repeated, slowly.

Mickey nodded. "From my dad," he provided. "I did some thinking last night and I gave him a call. He said he'd call me back before five, let me know."

Frank laid his fork down and looked right at Mickey. "Let you know what?"

Mickey took a deep breath, exhaled, then looked up to meet Frank's eyes. "Okay," he said, carefully. "I was going to tell you after he called, but I guess now is as good a time as any."

"Okay."

* * *

Ian sat in the back corner of his English class, twirling his pen between his fingers and not listening to the lesson being given. He needed to get out of class so that he could call his dad again and ask how Mickey was doing. The last he had heard, Mickey still hadn't told Frank the full story. Ian had tried calling every day, but to no avail. Mickey was impossible, but that didn't change the fact that he loved him.

It didn't help that today was Valentine's day. Everywhere he looked there were paper hearts and cupid cut-outs and other incredibly cheesy, romantic objects. He sighed and looked at the clock again, willing the hands to move. He began to pack his things away quietly when it was two minutes before the end of class and then when the class was excused, Ian leapt up out of his seat in a flash and headed for the door. When he was half-way down the hall, he heard a loud voice behind him.

"Ian!" it said. "Ian! Wait up!"

Ian slowed, then turned to look for the person calling his name. He saw him then, his bright eyes and hair and crooked smile. Ian waited until he reached him.

"Hey, Leo, what's up?" Ian said, moving to the side, so as not to block the way.

"Can I ask you something really quickly?" Leo asked, pushing his dirty blonde hair out of his eyes. "It'll only take a sec."

Ian's thumb ran over his phone in his pocket and he sighed quietly to himself. "Yeah," he told Leo. "Yeah, sure."

* * *

Mickey stood in the elevator as it went upwards, stopping at every floor, even though he had only selected the second last one. He sighed and stood back against the mirrored wall, heart racing in his chest. He looked across at the mirror facing him. He looked okay. At least, he hoped he did. His eyes looked a little tired, but other than that he looked healthy.

He hoped he was in the right place. He studied the scrap of paper he had in his pocket again, just to make sure, because it would have been insanely embarrassing if he had ended up in the wrong building.

It seemed to be the right one. He waited until the elevator came to a holt with a small ringing sound, then stepped outside onto the narrow, creme coloured corridor. He looked at the piece of paper one more time, shrugged, then began walking. He looked at the number on each door as he went, counting down until he came closer and closer. He stopped when he saw it and his heart beat sped up. This was it.

He took a deep breath, then went to take a step towards the door, but stopped, because the door in question opened inwards and two people were standing there. One walked out. He was tall, dark blonde hair, tanned, dressed casually. The other person stayed standing in the doorway, his bright blue eyes unlike any other, his hair perfectly styled, his skin smooth and pale as milk. Mickey's breath caught in his chest, as his heart ached a little. He was stuck to the spot.

Then the glistening eyes were on his and they were wider than ever and Mickey's heart skipped a beat and he felt dizzy. He could only stare back, his body incapable of doing anything else. He concentrated on those eyes, those bright, cyan eyes, so familiar and calming and mind blowing that they kept him grounded, kept him from hitting the ground, kept him from falling apart and from releasing those trapped tears and from blurting out all those words he had locked away inside of him.

He didn't drop his gaze from those baby blues as he took a deep breath, then stepped cautiously forward into the light. He held his breath until his name was spoken in an almost-whisper.

" _Mickey._ "

And then he let himself breathe.

* * *

"Mickey," Ian breathed out, unable to believe his eyes. He had to reach out and hold onto the door handle to keep himself upright, because this was the last thing he had expected.

Ian realised then that he was holding his breath. He couldn't take his eyes off of Mickey, his golden eyes shining brighter than ever, his face perfect and gorgeous, his cute little dress sense still intact. Ian's heart did a backflip in his chest and he felt nervous. He felt his body quivering a little as he opened his mouth to speak.

"Wh-what are y-you.." he trailed off, stammering. "Mickey," he said again, unable to say anything else, because other words would just come out an incoherent muddle.

Mickey spoke then, his voice sounding a little scratchy. "Hi," he said, quietly. "Did I.. Did I waste my time coming out here?"

Ian stared at him blankly for a long time, then say Mickey's bright eyes flickering to Leo, who he had forgotten was there. Ian's mouth developed into a small 'o' shape, then he tried to speak, but Leo got there first.

"Oh, you mean me!" he said, grinning at Mickey. "No, dude. Naw, I'm straight, man. Girlfriend's downstairs in the car. I was just borrowing some notes." He held up the notebook Ian had just given him. "I was just going. Thanks, Ian, see you Monday and hey," Leo smiled, walking by Mickey and giving him a light pat on the shoulder. "Nice meeting you. Later."

Ian watched him go, then looked back at Mickey. His face looked a bit pale and he looked sort of tired, but he was still the same beautiful boy Ian had left back in Ohio. He was looking at him now, his expression unreadable.

"Do you want to come inside?" Ian said, because he couldn't think of what else to say. It was strange. They'd seen each other a little less than 6 months ago and they'd talked briefly once or twice, but Ian felt nervous now, with Mickey standing there in front of him, his eyes locked on him, burning into him.

"Uh, yeah," Mickey said, shaking his head a bit. "Sure."

Ian stood back and let Mickey in, thankful that he had tidied up the night before. Mickey glanced around the apartment as he followed Ian into the small living space.

"It's very you," Mickey told him, then.

"That a good thing or a bad thing?" Ian joked.

"Good," Mickey replied. "Definitely good."

Ian smiled to himself as he walked into the small kitchen. "Want anything?" he asked. "I mean.. Did you just get here?"

"Uh, about an hour ago," Mickey nodded.

"Hungry?" Ian asked. "Thirsty? Both?"

"Both," Mickey smiled a bit and Ian's heart skipped a little. "But can we talk first?"

Ian stopped moving and just looked at Mickey. "Yeah," he nodded. "Yeah, we can do whatever you want."

Mickey outstretched a hand and Ian looked down at it. "If you don't want to touch me, it's okay," Mickey nodded. "I'll understand."

Ian didn't think twice, he simply reached out, grabbed Mickey's hand then tugged him forward and flung his arms around him. He heard Mickey sigh a bit against his body, his arms embracing Ian, too. Ian breathed in his scent, taking comfort in it, because God, he really missed this.

"God, I missed you so much," Ian breathed, tightening his grasp.

"Me, too," Mickey replied.

Finally, they let go, slowly and when Ian looked at Mickey, he saw that his face was twisted, like he was trying not to cry. "Um," Ian cleared his throat. "You wanted to talk."

Mickey nodded. Ian gestured for him to follow him to the sofa. They sat down beside one another, but not so that they were touching. "Okay," Mickey said. "Before we say anything else, I just need to know. Do you still love me?"

Ian spoke immediately. "Of course, I still love you," he said. "I'll never stop."

"Okay," Mickey said, nodding, like he was trying to get everything into order inside his head. "Okay, good. I love you, too, by the way."

Ian nodded, ignoring the butterflies in his stomach.

"Okay, so," Mickey went on. "I talked to my dad a little while ago and um, basically, he wants me out of his life. He is literally buying me out of his life."

"Mickey, that's awful. I—"

"No, see, I thought so at first, too, but it's not," Mickey said. "Well, I mean, I guess it is in the sense that it's a horrible thing to do, but after I thought about it, I figured it's not all bad. I mean, I've got the upper hand here. If I step back into his life and act like he's my father, it destroys him—or he thinks it does, anyway. Basically, he's giving me huge—and when I say huge, I mean _huge_ —amounts of cash, just to deny the fact that I'm his son. Don't look at me like that!" Ian just stared. "I mean, yes, it's awful. It is, but he's never really been a proper father to me anyway, right? So this isn't all bad."

"I guess," Ian nodded, understanding. "But doesn't it hurt?"

"At first, yes," Mickey admitted. "At first I thought everything had gotten worse. I thought my life was over and I locked myself away for a few days, but after a while, I thought about it and I realised that they obviously aren't losing sleep over me, so why should I lose sleep over them, you know? Why should I care about them when they don't care about me?

"So, I had this plan. I was going to leave Ohio. I had no idea where I was heading, or what I would do when I got there, I just knew I had to leave. And I told your dad and Carole and they were sort of on the fence about it, but I was determined. But I went to bed that night and I kept thinking about you. I mean, you're always on my mind, but I just.. I felt like there was something telling me to go to you. So I called my dad and I made a deal with him. I told him I'd agree to his little deal if he got me a last minute ticket out here. It's more expensive if you book late, obviously and he protested a little bit, but he gave in eventually. So I told your dad and he gave me your address and he seemed happy about it. Even helped me pack my things away. I came out here and I found you and.. I thought I had wasted my time, when I saw the guy, but I mean, that was just me being insecure and expecting the worst. Now, I just need to explain myself, make you understand everything."

"Okay," Ian nodded. "But.. This is it? You're here for good?"

"If you want me," Mickey shrugged one shoulder. "If not, I'll understand."

"You're asking me if I want you?" Ian asked, eyes wide. "Really? After I've called you every single day since I left? I thought you were the one who didn't want me."

"No way," Mickey said. "No, I've never stopped wanting you. Not for a second." Ian said nothing, just let Mickey go on. "I understand if you can't forgive me, I'm not asking you to. I just want to explain what I was feeling. I was selfish and horrible to you. I'm sorry. I should have answered your calls, I should have spoken to you for as long as you wanted to speak. I was just.. I was scared and I didn't know what to do. I know that's no excuse, Ian. I just felt like everything was slipping away, you know? And I thought if I kept in contact with you, you'd slip away eventually, too and then I'd be left with nothing at all. I mean, yeah, I was left with nothing anyway, but it would have hurt so much more to lose you to someone else. I know that's selfish and ridiculous, because I didn't think of what you might want. I should have known you still wanted me and part of me did know that, but I was still scared that how you felt about me would go away. I shouldn't have done what I did, Ian. I'm so sorry."

"I forgive you," Ian told him. "I can see where you were coming from and I get you've had a lot going on, so don't worry. You're here now, right?" Mickey gave him a small nod. "Where are your things?"

"Um, at a hotel," Mickey said. "I left them there before I came here."

"So, can we go get them?"

"W-what? Why?"

"Um, so we can move you in?" Ian said. "Unless you don't want that, in which case, I understand, too. I get it's a lot of commitment, but—"

"You.. You'd want me to move in?"

"Well, yeah," Ian shrugged. "I mean, I'm here all by myself. Rachel and Finn are in an apartment upstairs, so it's just me. I mean, there's a spare room which you can have, but it gets awfully lonely in that double bed of mine."

He saw Mickey's mouth tilt up at the corners and it reminded him of the old Mickey, the guy he had fallen in love with. "You really just forgive me?" Mickey asked. "Just like that?"

"Just like that," Ian nodded and he reached over and took Mickey's hand in his. "I'm glad you're here. I was on the verge of getting a plane ticket home just so that I could force you to speak to me again."

Mickey chuckled. "I probably would have left town."

Ian smiled and gave his hand a gentle squeeze. "So, are we okay?" he asked. "We're good again?"

"We're good again," Mickey nodded. "If you're okay with that."

"I'm more than okay with that," Ian assured him. "Come on," he said tugging Mickey's arm gently. "Let me show you around."

"It's not that huge—"

"Oh, you don't want to see the bedroom?" Ian raised an eyebrow. "Oh, okay, then. Let's watch some TV and—"

"On second thoughts, wow, this place is like a maze, maybe a tour wouldn't be so bad."

Ian grinned and pulled Mickey up of the sofa and tugged him into his bedroom.

* * *

Ian's bedroom was also very Ian. Everything was matched and coordinated and neat and tidy and rich and elegant and stylish and everything that Ian was. Mickey looked around with a smile.

"You're right," he said, walking towards the rectangular window. "That bed must get pretty lonely all by yourself."

"You have no idea."

"I have some idea," Mickey smiled slightly. "I've been sleeping in your bed by myself for the past six months or so."

"Oh, right," Ian nodded. "I forgot about that. So, what do you think? Think you can handle sharing this room with me?"

"So long as you promise to make room over there for my hair gel," Mickey teased, gesturing across at the dresser, which was covered in various products and hairsprays and other cosmetics that Mickey couldn't make out from across the room.

"I'm not sure that's a promise I can make," Ian told him. "So, what's the plan out here?"

"Oh, I didn't tell you that part, did I?"

"What part?"

"Okay, so I locked myself in your room all yesterday and I applied to colleges, like, everywhere around here. I'm bound to get into one, right? Until then, I'll just get a job, or something."

"Really?" Ian smiled, moving closer to Mickey. "You mean it?"

"Of course," Mickey smiled and he reached out for Ian's hand again. "I have been the biggest asshole alive lately and I'm going to spend the rest of forever making it up to you."

"You don't have to," Ian said. "But since you're going to end up filthy rich, what with this 'deal' with your dad and all, then what the hey. I'll take what I can get."

Mickey tugged him forward and rested his hands on his hips. "You just want me for my cash."

"Among other things."

"My cash and my body," Mickey smiled, nose inches from Ian's. "First kiss in six months," he whispered, then slowly moved his head forward until his lips met Ian's. It started off slow, experimental, but then Mickey slid his arms around Ian's body and tilted him until he was flat on his back on the bed. Ian's hands found their way into Mickey's hair and standing there, entwined like that, it was as if they had never left one another. It all felt so natural, so familiar, so _right._

After a long make-out session, they broke apart and just lay there, breathing, lips swollen, bodies hot, chests rising and falling quickly as they caught their breath. Mickey felt as if he had no more worries, which was new to him. He felt as if he had walked around his entire life with a heavy weight on his shoulders, his heart weighed down by some kind of bulky, metal object, but now, all of that was gone. He felt like he could really breathe, for the first time in a long, long time.

"Know what we should do?" Ian uttered, after a few heartbeats of silence. He leaned up onto his elbows and looked down at Mickey.

"Hmm?"

"We should go get your stuff, come back and get you acquainted with my sheets."

"Tempting," Mickey said. "But I was thinking we could just sort of.. Hang out, until tonight, obviously."

"Why?" Ian asked, quietly. He looked as if he was afraid he had done something wrong.

"Because it's been six months and I've missed just having you with me," Mickey told him. "Not because of any great reason. I mean, you still drive me crazy, but we've got plenty of time for that, right? I just want to hold onto you for a while."

Ian gave him a nod and a smile. "So, what about your things?"

"Awfully keen to get me moved in, aren't we, baby?" He saw Ian's smile grow when he called him baby. The baby/babe thing was one of those little things in their relationship, something that made it their very own.

"We're going to be like an old, married couple, I can see it now."

"Hey, some day, right?" Mickey smiled, moving to face his boyfriend. It felt good to refer to Ian as his boyfriend again.

"Some day what?"

"Some day we'll be an old, married couple."

"Seriously?" Ian asked and Mickey gave him a nod. "You think we can make it?"

Mickey grinned and pressed a light kiss to Ian's swollen, red lips. "I think we're strong, we love each other and we've already been through enough crap to last us a life time, yet we still came out winning. I think we can do anything."

"How wise of you."

"You're perfect," Mickey told him.

"I missed you."

"I'm sorry."

"I know," Ian nodded, slowly.

"I love you."

"I love you, too."

"Hey, Ian?"

"Hmm?"

"Happy Valentine's day."

"It certainly is."

Mickey smiled. "I didn't even get you a card, or anything."

"You're here," Ian said. "That's more than enough."

"We should go do something for the day," Mickey said. "We can go get my things and then go get dinner, or something, because I haven't eaten anything since about 8AM."

"Sounds like a plan."

* * *

In the end, Ian and Mickey ate out first, then collected Mickey's things from the hotel. They spent a long time putting his clothes away and getting him settled into the apartment. Frank had called half way through and asked if everything had gone okay and Ian assured him that it had.

"You," Ian said, closing the closet door, once they had unpacked all of Mickey's things. "Have far too many bowties."

"You can never have too many bowties," Mickey smiled, collapsing down on the bed.

"I can't say I agree," Ian said, then went and lay down next to him, smiling, because it hadn't yet entirely registered that Mickey was actually here and was going to stay here, for good.

"Oh, hush, you love the bowties," Mickey smirked.

"Not as much as I love you," he said, leaning across and flicked the light switch off and they were left in darkness.

Mickey hit the switch on the lamp and the dim glow filled the room. He moved then and leaned over Ian, then bent his body until he was on top of him. "I missed you," he said, slipping one hand down to clasp the waistband of Ian's jeans.

"You missed me or you missed having sex with me?" Ian smirked up at Mickey.

"Both," Mickey replied. "Mostly you, though. I screwed up."

"We both did at one point or another," Ian told him.

"Yeah, but me more than you," Mickey said, smile fading. "I'm more sorry than you know."

"Stop apologising," Ian said. "And take my clothes off."

* * *

"God, I've missed you so— _Jesus Christ, Mickey_ —so much," Ian panted beneath Mickey as he slipped in and out of him. Mickey felt as if he could feel Ian's heart beating against his chest. His hands were gripping Mickey's hips, pulling him closer. Mickey couldn't manage coherent words, he just moaned a little bit.

Ian's head was thrown back, his eyes half-closed, mouth half-open. Mickey was close now and he had to shut his eyes, because if he kept looking at Ian, that would be it, he wouldn't last another second. Mickey reached down and pulled Ian closer, never slowing the thrust of his hips. He reached between them and took Ian's erection in his hand and Ian _whimpered_ and that was it, Mickey was gone. He came hard and fast inside Ian, his hips stuttering forward and Ian cried out and arched his back, pushing himself into Mickey's hand, needing him to finish this.

Mickey slowed his hips then and pumped his hand harder on Ian's cock. He looked amazing in the insipid light, as it cast shadows all over his pale, smooth skin. Ian's hands were gripping the bedspread beneath him, clawing at the material. Mickey could see him swallowing hard, his neck bared as he pushed his head further backwards. Mickey lowered his head and pressed his lips to Ian's wan neck. He sucked his skin into his mouth and his hand continued to push itself up and down Ian's hard length.

"Come for me," Mickey whispered against Ian's neck. "Come on, pretty boy. Come for me."

Mickey sucked the skin of Ian's neck into his mouth, marking him just over his pulse. It only took a couple more thrusts of Mickey's hand and Ian was coming, a loud whine escaping his lips, sounding suspiciously like Mickey's name. Mickey stopped the movement of his hand and let Ian go, before collapsing on top of him. He eased himself out of Ian's stretched opening and just lay there, on top of him, breathing laboured.

"You're amazing," he told Ian once he had caught his breath. He leaned up and looked down into those cerulean blue orbs. They were as spectacular as always and when he smiled, it went all the way to his eyes. "You're amazing and I'm crazy in love with you and all I want is to hold you for the rest of time."

"I love you," Ian said and his voice sounded a little thick. "I can't pinpoint the precise moment that I fell for you, but God, I'm just so in love with you. Promise me you're not going anywhere this time."

"I never went anywhere," Mickey told him, with a smile. "I never did and I never will."

* * *

Ian came out of the bathroom and closed the door behind him. Mickey was already in the bed, his back to Ian. He was facing the window, just staring out into the night. Ian smiled to himself and went closer, his legs wobbling a little. He ignored the slight burn when he walked (it had been a long time) and then he climbed into the bed next to Mickey and moved up close to him.

Mickey twisted back a little when Ian climbed in beside him. He smiled and his eyes were bright in the low glow of the moon slipping through the slightly ajar blinds. Mickey shuddered when Ian laced his arms around his body. He shifted until he faced him and wrapped his own arms around Ian's waist.

"This might be the best feeling in the world," Ian whispered.

"Definitely," Mickey agreed. "I think I've finally got it right."

"Got what right?"

"Everything," Mickey informed him. "Everything's right."

"Yeah," Ian agreed. "Everything's right."

Mickey reached down and took Ian's left hand in his. He pulled it up and out from underneath the covers. Ian watched as he pressed their bracelets together, the light of the silver moon clashing against them. Ian gave him a quizzical expression. Mickey smiled.

"Do you ever think about the beginning?" he asked, lacing his fingers with Ian's. "Like, way back at the start? I do sometimes. I was just thinking about it while you were moisturising, or whatever, in the bathroom. It's like.. This started off as a complete mess. You hated me—"

"Disliked," Ian corrected. "Never hated."

"Okay," Mickey smiled. "You _disliked_ me. I was scared to admit I liked you and I acted like the biggest tool alive. And then it got better. I mean, yeah, it got worse again, but look at us now. We made it."

"Yeah," Ian nodded. "Yeah, I guess we did."

"It's weird, though, isn't it?" Mickey asked. "I mean, it feels the same as ever, but it feels different, too. I mean, we're still us, but we're us in New York city. This is _surreal_ , baby!" He drew out the word 'surreal'.

"Yeah," Ian said. "It does feel a little surreal, but in a good way."

"In the _best_ way," Mickey emitted.

"Right," Ian smiled, then took Mickey's wrist in his hand. He held the bracelet up to the light, so that they could read the words.

 _"I want to take you far from the cynics in this town_

 _and kiss you on the mouth."_

Ian locked his blue eyes on Mickey's golden-brown ones and gave him his best smile. "Guess we did that," he said. "Got away, made it here."

Mickey leaned across and pressed his lips to Ian's. "And now we've kissed each other on the mouth." Ian laughed and then Mickey was shoving his wrist into the light. "And," Mickey began. "Every time I look at you, I get knocked sideways, only now I'm not waiting for time to get rid of how I feel about you. I just want it to keep getting better and better and it is. I love you more with every passing day."

Ian tried to ignore the fluttering feeling inside his chest, but it was hard, especially with Mickey so close. "We have to be the cheesiest couple on the planet."

"I prefer the _'cutest'_ ," Mickey told him.

"Okay, fine. The cutest, then," Ian corrected himself. "We should go to sleep," he said, letting Mickey's wrist go. Mickey's hands slipped back around him and Ian pressed the palms of his own hands to Mickey's bare chest.

"Okay," Mickey nodded and then he was moving closer and then pushing himself over Ian's body. "I have three things to tell you first."

"Mm, alright," Ian smiled up at Mickey, his eyes wild and bright in the pale light.

"Number one," Mickey said. "I love you."

And he pulled Ian's hand up and pressed a warm kiss to his knuckles.

"Number two," Mickey said, letting Ian's hand go. "I love you."

And he lowered his mouth and pressed the tiniest, butterfly kiss to Ian's lips.

Ian smiled. "And number three," Mickey uttered, finally. " _I love you._ "

And he crushed his mouth down over Ian's and slipped his tongue past his teeth and kissed him like he hadn't kissed him in a hundred thousand years. When he pulled back, he smiled down at Ian. Ian smiled back and lifted a hand to Mickey's cheek.

"I love you, too."

And then Mickey caught Ian in his arms and pulled them both onto their sides. He moved in and wrapped himself around him and whispered that he loved him once more, before they both fell asleep, clinging to one another like that, their shadows entwined, as the opalescent moon fell out of the New York sky.

They opened their eyes when the sun came up and they smiled, because this was it. This was where they belonged, in one another's arms.

They were finally home.

* * *

 **That's it, that's the end. This is just the smut scene I skipped over from chapter 14, that someone asked me to write back then, so I'm adding it here :)**

* * *

 _He's like a rollercoaster,_

 _And I'm afraid of heights,_

 _But still there's nothing to stop me from getting off this ride,_

 _Oh, I just can't let you go._

 **Field Scene From Chapter 14:**

"I remember the first time I ever came here," Mickey said, lying next to Ian in the soft grass, as they watched the stars above. "I was thirteen and my parents were fighting and I just needed to get away, because I felt like banging my head against a wall. I couldn't listen to them. I had to get out of there, so I just walked downstairs and left the house and they didn't even notice me going. I remember just walking, feeling dazed and dizzy and not knowing where I was going and then when I got too exhausted to go on, I just stopped and I found myself right out there, where we parked. I walked through and I just lay here for hours. I've been coming here ever since."

"And you've managed to never get murdered out here," Ian smiled a bit. "That's impressive in itself."

Mickey chuckled. "No one else knows I come here."

"Why me?" Ian asked, next to him. "Why bring me here?"

"It felt right," Mickey shrugged. "I wanted you to know something about me that no one else knew. Well. Other than the fact that we slept together."

Ian only nodded and Mickey hoped he understood what that meant, because he found it difficult to say it out loud.

"I have a feeling I'll be spending a lot of time here after tomorrow," Mickey said, then.

"I'm here for you, Mickey," Ian told him and Mickey resisted the urge to ask him how long he was willing to still be there for him. "For whatever you need."

Mickey leaned up and looked down at Ian, his bright blue eyes glistening in the light of the silver stars. "What I need," he told Ian, his voice thick. "Is you."

Something flickered in Ian's eyes and he seemed to understand. He gave a small inclination of his head and Mickey took that as a sign of permission to just go ahead and take him. He lowered himself down and caught Ian's mouth with his own, his heart hammering in his chest and kissed him like he was the source of everlasting life, like he just couldn't get enough.

And in a way, he couldn't. There was something about him that was just so God damned _addicting_ and Mickey couldn't let him go, no matter how hard he , he didn't even want to let go, he just wanted to hold on forever and forget the rest of the stupid world and just _be_.

Ian was sucking on his bottom lip and Mickey was slipping his hands under his shirt and tracing invisible lines over his smooth, pale, white skin. Ian's knee shifted and Mickey lowered his crotch down to it and ground himself against it. Ian gasped a little against his lips and Mickey just needed him. He looked so amazing in the pale light and..

"I want to top," he told Ian, before he could stop himself. "Please, I just want.. I _need_.."

"Okay," Ian nodded, eagerly. "Okay, yes."

Mickey hadn't topped before and he could see the glimmer of nervousness in Ian's blue eyes, but he would take his time, do this right, make sure it was good for him. He groaned a bit, needing more, so he reached down and unclasped Ian's pants. He slid them down and Ian's chest stilled for a moment, then he breathed again.

It wasn't long before Mickey had stripped Ian completely of his clothes. He shrugged his own pants off and pretty soon, he was naked, too. Ian reached up and pulled him down and slipped his tongue into his mouth, hungrily, like he wanted Mickey as much as he wanted him.

Mickey couldn't wait another moment. He slipped his fingers into Ian's mouth and Ian sucked on them, understanding. In a few seconds, he slipped his hand down Ian's body and found his tight entrance. He'd fingered him more than once now, it was something he enjoyed more than he should have. Ian arched his back, his erection digging into Mickey's stomach. Mickey crooked his finger inside Ian and he whimpered under him, his eyes fluttering shut, those thick lashes dancing in the motion.

Mickey slipped his hand back out and got his fingers wet again, this time with his own mouth. He bent his hand back down and slid two fingers in this time and Ian hissed a bit, but protested when Mickey stopped, so he kept going. It took a little bit of time, but soon his was slipping his fingers in and out freely, without hurting Ian too badly. Then when Ian was stretched enough, he slid his fingers back out and Ian moaned a little at the loss.

Then Ian was pushing Mickey backwards. His back hit the cool blanket underneath them and Ian was hovering over him, his eyes a shade darker than usual. After a moment, Ian was moving lower. He pressed an open mouthed kiss to Mickey's chest, then trailed more hot kisses down his body until he reached his lower stomach. He kissed him there for a little while, then pushed himself up. He was looking down at Mickey's erection. Mickey watched as Ian licked his swelled lips, then fell down and pushed his mouth down over Mickey's cock.

"Oh, _fuck._ "

Ian's mouth was wet and hot and sucking on him his hand gripping the base. Mickey flung his head back when Ian's tongue slid over the slit and he just wasn't going to be able to last if he kept on like that.

"Stop," he groaned. "I need.. Ian. Stop, or I'm d-done."

Ian removed his mouth and the cool air hit Mickey and he just needed to be inside Ian and fast. He moved himself upwards then pushed Ian gently down and lifted his legs.

"Slowly," Ian directed.

Mickey nodded. He wouldn't hurt him. He kneeled between Ian's thighs and positioned himself so that he was in line with his opening. He reached down and pressed himself against the tight, puckered hole, then slid in very, very slowly and low, guttural sounds were escaping Ian's swelled, pink lips.

"Okay?" Mickey asked.

"Fine," he told him. "Just.. Don't move, or I'll kill you."

Mickey smiled on instinct and he reached down to touch Ian's own erection, just while he got used to the intrusion.

"That's not helping," Ian choked out, when Mickey slipped his thumb over the slit of Ian's cock.

"Sorry," he said, but he wasn't sorry, not really. How could he be when Ian looked like _that_ beneath him.

"Want to try moving?"

He didn't have to ask him twice. Mickey let Ian go and moved to rest a hand on either side of his body, then he pulled his hips backwards, then plunged forward again.

" _Jesus Christ, fuck you, Mickey_." Mickey couldn't help smiling at that. He slowed down again, but Ian shook his head. "No, no. Keep going. It'll be— _shit—_ It'll be fine. Go."

Mickey nodded and began to slide himself in and out of Ian, carefully, wanting to just go faster, because this tightness and heat was driving him nuts and he just wanted to move in and out of him as quickly as possible, just needing him more than anything else in the whole world.

"Faster."

Mickey raised an eyebrow when Ian said that. "Are you s—"

"I said faster, Mickey, just do it."

He wavered there for a few moments, then obliged. He began to thrust himself in and out harder and faster and Ian was moaning really loudly and he tried to stop, because he really did not want to hurt him, no matter how good it felt, but Ian kept demanding he keep going and he wanted him to go harder and Mickey couldn't believe his ears.

He was so close, pushing himself in and out of Ian with ease, his mouth open wide. He was watching Ian's blue eyes through his lashes, his face, the way his mouth was opening and closing ad how he kept running his tongue, slowly over his lips.

"God, Mickey," Ian whined, then. "I'm about to—"

And then Ian was coming and Mickey was watching him open mouthed, because he'd come simply from Mickey being inside him and that amazed him. It was enough to send him flying over the edge, because then Mickey was coming, still inside Ian, shooting his load into his tight hole and they didn't even have any protection. Mickey couldn't bring himself to care about that, not at that moment, because Ian looked and felt and sounded so amazing, lying there, covered in his own come, his mouth wet and open, his milky lids covering those bright blue orbs.

Mickey eased himself out, then and bent to kiss Ian's lips. He kissed him back lazily, murmuring incoherent words against his mouth. Mickey pulled the second blanket up over then and rolled back to lie beside him. He looked up at the sky and caught his breath, grateful for the cool air and the calming moon and stars. His heart was beating way too quickly, but not because he regretted anything, just because Ian did things to him, things he could not begin to understand.

It was Ian who spoke first.

"Did we just—we just had sex in a field," he said, surprise evident in his voice. "Oh my God. We just had sex in a field.


	38. Review 1

**Thank You for the review.. and sometimes my corrections do not take. I have no idea, like the summary .. However, those other typos are my fault. Please do not hesitate to send me reviews on the things I missed and don't seem to be correct to you. In fact, t is encouraged.**


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